Caged
by hodorhodorhodor
Summary: Ivy Potter lives in an orphanage- oh wait, sorry a children's home-, her parents are vegetables in St. Mungo's & the Girl-Who-Lived is a constant pain in her arse. She's notorious for her anger 'issues' & just wants one year dark lords, basilisks & mass murders stay away. Unfortunately for Ivy, dark forces are at play again & she can't hide in the dungeons-Girl!Harry AU 4th yr
1. Chapter 1

Ivy Potter lives in an orphanage- oh wait, sorry a 'children's home'- her parents are vegetables in St. Mungo's and the Girl-Who-Lived is a stuck up, constant pain in her arse. She's a ward of the state, is notorious for her anger 'issues' and might be, just might be a homicidal maniac. Unfortunately for Ivy, dark forces are at play and she can no longer sulk about her miserable existence in the dungeons. AU 4th Year Girl!Harry.

* * *

_Name: Ivy Dorea Potter_

_Age: 14_

_DOB: July 31st, 1980_

_Parents: James Potter (Father), Lily Potter (Mother)_

_Current Status of Parents: Mental Incapacitation_

_WARD OF THE STATE_

"Is this information correct?" the receptionist at the front desk asked me.

I nodded and pushed the paper back to her, "Yes, it's all here."

The receptionist pushed up her glasses, which had been slipping off her nose, and grunted at me without looking up from her computer, "Take a seat. Dr. Thomas will be with you shortly."

I turned away from the front desk and scanned the room for somewhere to sit. In one corner, there was a man with scraggly grey hair rocking back forth in one corner. A young woman with a heart shaped face was trying to calm him down, but he kept moaning. I knew you couldn't get me to sit next them for all the galleons in Gringotts. Towards the center of the room was a worn out looking woman trying to calm down her wailing baby. I immediately scowled. Babies were one of my least favorite creatures on Earth. They smelled, they cried and they burped up constantly. I could not stand them.

The only viable option was the seat next to the office's exit. I was out of arms length from crazies and babies and the only pitfall was that every time the door opened, I would be assaulted by the stifling summer air. It was a downside I was willing to accept though and with my mind made up, I sat down in the hard plastic chair out segregated now from my other annoyances.

Once I took a deep breath, inhaling the stale waiting room air, I leaned back against the rigid surface and closed my eyes. I did not get a lot of sleep last night. Little Jenny Hamilton's screams had rattled the entire orphanage and kept me from enjoying the few hours of peace I have at St. Mildred's Home for Children.

Unfortunately, with the baby still screaming its head off and the mentally ill man now yelling about the Nazis coming to get us, it was hard to find my happy place to fall into unconsciousness. From the way my hands began to tremble, I could tell my feelings of discomfort in the doctor's office were quickly turning into feelings of aggravation. I could suddenly hear Snape's silky voice in my ear, reminding me to employ "mental arts" to control my temper, but I could already hear the windows rattling in the office.

"There must be construction going on outside," I heard someone remark and I had to dig my nails into my palm to take my mind off my current frustration and onto the sensation of pain. It wasn't the right way to focus myself and Snape has berated me enough for it, but it was the only proven working method for me the last fourteen years and I was going to stick to it for now.

Only when I drew blood did the windows stop shaking. I opened my eyes and saw the five nail marks in my skin, each of them slowly oozing, but I did not flinch. It was a common occurrence for me, which is why I decided to spend some time with Madam Pomfrey my first year at Hogwarts and acquire some basic healing knowledge to prevent myself from "dying from an infection" as the dramatic nurse used to say. Unfortunately during the summer months I could not fix my hand with magic. It was off limits. Instead, I was forced to rely on the Band-Aids I carried in my knapsack.

Just as I finished applying my bandage to my hand, the receptionist called, "Miss Potter, Dr. Thomas will see you now."

I stowed away the box of Band-Aids and then followed the receptionist to the back of the office just as I did every week during the summer. She stopped outside a closed door and knocked.

"Dr. Thomas, Ivy is ready for you," the receptionist said through the door.

"Send her in Marianne," I heard a familiar voice reply.

The door swung open revealing a modest office with a faded oak desk near the far wall and two plush brown armchairs at the center of the room. Book shelves lined the walls that I could not help but stare at every time I entered the room. Ever since I was a little girl, I always had a special place in my heart for books. My feelings had not changed since my fourteenth birthday a few weeks ago.

Sitting in one of the armchairs was my psychiatrist, Dr. Howard Thomas. He was a muggleborn who had fled into the Muggle world during the Dark Lord's reign of terror. Even though Voldemort was gone thirteen years now, he had grown comfortable with muggles and decided not to return. When I first started having my accidental magic episodes at the orphanage when I was seven, my Ministry of Magic sponsor, Ted Tonks, had tracked him down for me to talk to and I had been going to his office ever since.

"Hello, Ivy, please sit," he motioned to the chair across from him.

I obliged immediately. After years of talking to Dr. Thomas, I was long passed the days where I would rather blow up things in his office and scream my head off than listen to what he had to say.

"You look tired," he commented, taking in my physical appearance. I was certain he was right. Under my mother's green eyes, I had bags from my previous sleepless night.

"A girl from the orphanage has been having nightmares," I told him with a scowl. I did not appreciate being called out for looking like shite. "She's been keeping up our entire floor."

"You know it's not an orphanage, Ivy," Dr. Thomas reminded me gently. "There are other children there with parents who are still alive."

"Alive is a loose term, doc," I said with my arms crossed over my chest. This was a frequent argument my psychiatrist and I had. Dr. Thomas and I would spar back and forth about the state of my parents- Lily and James Potter, until the older man usually gave up and decided to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"Do your parents still breathe?" he asked me calmly, which I gave him credit for. I knew his frustration about falling into this argument once again was just below the surface. It would take some button pushing to let it see the light of day but it was going to feel so satisfying to see Dr. Thomas eventually snap.

"Yes."

"Do their hearts still beat?"

"Yes."

"Do their brains still function?"

"Barely," I muttered and rolled my eyes. Of course, he used those lines. It was the same shite week after week. The psychiatrist never came up with anything original. At this point, we could have this argument in our sleep.

"Then, by medical definition your parents are living beings, Ivy," Dr. Thomas told me.

"Well, by my definition Dr. Thomas, they're dead. No one should be a prisoner in their own bloody brains," I growled and I noticed the glass on the psychiatrist's table was starting to vibrate. "My parents don't remember Hogwarts. They don't remember their families. They don't remember each other," The glass was now rattling, "And they certainly don't remember me!"

CRACK!

The glass had suddenly shattered and the contents began to spill all over the carpet, soaking it. I immediately stood up, pushing the chair back and stalked across the room to stand next to the window.

I couldn't look at Dr. Thomas right now. I would only make more things in his office explode. Instead, my gaze fell to the London street below me. There was a girl around six years old and her mother enjoying ice cream cones and a couple about three years older than me holding hands and giggling.

_You're a fool, Ivy Potter,_ Snape's voice echoed in my skull. _You're just like your murdering leech of a godfather. You persist on letting your emotions dictate you and that will be your downfall. _

I growled. I hated when his voice came into my head. It wasn't as if my thoughts weren't already dark enough as it was, but add my brain's attempt to have a depressed alcoholic serve as my conscience and it was a miracle I wasn't already turning into the next Dark Lady.

I continued to gaze down at the cheerful scene before I decided I could take it no more and I had to push away from the window to face my psychiatrist. Apparently, not much had occurred since I left the sitting area. Dr. Thomas was still on his knees picking up glass.

"Are you a wizard or not?" I snapped. "A 'Reparo' would have made quick work of that."

"Ivy, we are in the muggle world," Dr. Thomas reminded me, looking up from his carpet with a gaze that was definitely a lot wearier than before. "I don't need my wand here."

I gaped at him as if he grew a second head, "You don't keep your wand on you at all times?"

"Why would I need to do that?" Dr. Thomas asked me. "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named has been dead for thirteen years thanks to Callie Longbottom. I have nothing to be afraid of anymore."

I scowled at the mention of one of my least favorite people at Hogwarts- Callidora "Callie" Longbottom or as she's more commonly titled, "The Girl-Who-Lived." Callie was the savior of the wizarding world, the defeater of the darkest wizard of the 20th century and Albus Dumbledore's golden child. As an infant, her parents were brutally murdered by Voldemort but when it came time to kill her, the Dark Lord's curse had rebounded and struck him down instead, ending a nearly ten year reign of terror.

Of course that's very good and all, but Voldemort's death brought on a lot of confusion and desperation on the part of his followers- the Deatheaters. Instead of going quietly into the night, four of the little shits- Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and Bartemius Crouch Jr, insisted their leader was not dead and for some reason, they decided the next best course of action was to question my parents about it. They tortured them for hours under the Cruciartis Curse until they both broke- their minds destroyed forever.

I wish I could say that was the worst part, but it was not even close. A day after my parents lost their minds, one of their best friends and my godfather, Sirius Orion Black, was arrested for the murder of twelve muggles and my Uncle Peter Pettigrew in the middle of a busy London street. It turned out that he had led his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange and her friends' right to my parents. The monster had betrayed them and then murdered another one of his friends. Just the sound of his name still makes my blood boil.

"Do you not read the bloody Daily Prophet?" I asked him. "It's not only been over a year since Sirius Black escaped from prison, but the Death Eaters became the main act at the Quidditch World Cup a week ago and the dementors almost sucked out Callie Longbottom's soul in June by 'accident.' There's plenty to be afraid of now, doc."

"How do you feel about Sirius still being out there?" Dr. Thomas suddenly asked me. I think he was glad to change of our current topic- which was attacking his life decisions, but I was not. The idea of discussing my raging, homicidal maniac of a godfather did not enthuse me. "You must have been upset when he escaped Ministry custody in June."

I glared at him. Of course I was upset, but not for the reason he believed- for the sake of truth and justice and all that codswallop. What I had wanted was to find Black and spray his brains all over the ground. Instead, I got to hear the tale of Callie Longbottom facing the traitor with her dunce of a sidekick and her muggleborn pet, while I was holed up in the hospital wing with a Quidditch injury. Apparently, the foolish Gryffindors barely escaped Black's clutches alive and only made it through because Snape showed up to save their hides.

"I'm disappointed," I admitted, clenching my fists to prevent me from spewing out the full contents of my murderous rage. If I let it all go, I was certain Dr. Thomas would go run off and tell Ted Tonks about how much of a bloodthirsty freak I was and I certainly didn't need that. My Ministry sponsor would force me back on those mind potions and I did not want that shite back in my system again. It was vile.

My psychiatrist's eye brows rose a quarter of an inch. I think he was shocked nothing had exploded in his room at the mention of my parent's betrayer. Last year after Black escaped, Ted Tonks had to come into Dr. Thomas's office and repair all the damage I had caused after my psychiatrist tried to broach the topic with me. I swear if I close my eyes, I could still picture the old man's desk burning.

Dr. Thomas decided to push his luck, "Do you still want to look for him?"

Last year, I repeatedly screamed in this office I would hunt Sirius Black down, even if it took me to the gates of hell. Luckily for me, Black seemed pretty persistent on trying to kill Longbottom and had come to Hogwarts- and by extension me, to do it. Unluckily for me, I never got the opportunity to lay my eyes on Black the entire year he terrorized the school. I am still kicking myself for missing his randevu with the Gryffindors in the Shrieking Shack.

"I figure at this point doc, he's going to come to me first before I find him," I told the psychiatrist, who frowned.

"You almost sound excited for that possibility, Ivy," he remarked, scribbling something down on his pad of paper.

I rolled my eyes. That comment was definitely going straight back to Ted Tonks. Bollocks.

"I mean if some psychopath was the reason why your parents were rotting away in a hospital and you were forced to live in an orphanage-

"Children's home," Dr. Thomas cut in.

I scoffed and continued, "_Orphanage_," I repeated, "please don't tell me you wouldn't be planning out exactly what you would say and do to the person who was behind it all. Your self-righteous act is bullshit, Doctor Thomas."

To his credit, my psychiatrist didn't blow up at me, which a lesser tempered man would have definitely done. He just nodded and kept scribbling away in that wretched notepad that I desperately wished to set aflame.

"Are you excited about starting a new year at Hogwarts?" Dr. Thomas asked, probably anxious to change the topic again.

"Yes," I admitted. "I do enjoy playing football in the park with the muggles, but nothing beats Quidditch."

At Hogwarts, I lived and breathed the wizarding sport of Quidditch. Ted Tonks had introduced it to me when I was seven and I was first having my "anger issues." He thought it would be a good release for me and for once, he was right about something. I _love _Quidditch. The control I felt on a broom compared to the control I felt over my life on the ground were two separate entities. It was a freedom I cherished above all other things and I would never let it go as long as I lived.

Dr. Thomas smiled, "What position do you play again, Ivy?"

"Seeker," I told him. "The first female seeker Slytherin has ever had."

Quidditch had never been a popular sport amongst the Slytherin house females. It was deemed too 'barbaric' and 'unladylike' by the girls in my house who had sticks constantly up their arses. Fortunately, I was never one for following traditions, especially Slytherin ones, and when I was in my second year, I eagerly gave my house a good, old fashioned middle finger after I made the team. Wiping the floor with the Malfoy brat during tryouts was just an added bonus.

"Excellent," he said. "How about your friends? How are they?"

I scowled at the sneaky bastard across from me. He knew very well that I had not acquired a single 'friend' during my time at Hogwarts. Sure, I had allies. Tracy Davis was the only Slytherin girl in my year who would talk to me since we were both half-bloods, but all we usually did was spend hours in the library trying to best our classmates. My teammates respected me- sans Malfoy (who did become a Chaser last year), but only for my Quidditch skills. And some weird Ravenclaw girl always asked me how my Nargles were doing in the corridors, so I guess that counts for an ally, right? Otherwise, I barely interacted with anyone at Hogwarts besides Snape, who declared when I was a first year that he was 'taking an interest in my development' and hasn't left me bloody alone since.

"They're alright," I lied. "Tracy went on holiday to Australia."

In reality, I had no idea what Tracy Davis was doing. We only wrote to each other during one period of the summer and that was to exchange a few messages about the Arithmancy number chart we received at the end of the school year from Professor Vector. There was no mention of her holiday plans and I certainly didn't bring up the orphanage. It was way too embarrassing.

"Good," Dr. Thomas said, scribbling something down in his notepad again. "I heard you visited your parents with Mr. Tonks yesterday. How was that for you?"

I thought about my once brilliant mother, whose green eyes never sparkled with intelligence anymore and instead remained dull, and my father who was once an Auror and a record-holding Quidditch player but was now throwing tantrums when the nurses tried to get him out of bed. I felt nauseas just thinking about them.

"It was nice to see them before I left," I told my psychiatrist. "I always miss them when I go off to school."

I was proud of myself for giving Dr. Thomas a nice, safe answer. I did not tell him how after my visit, I spent an hour locked in my room because my mother recognized her nurse before she did me. I did not tell him how I set the picture of my teammates and I aflame after my father did not even react to us hoisting the Quidditch Cup above our heads after our last game against Gryffindor. If I had, he probably would have had me committed.

Every time I visited my parents at St. Mungo's, I returned back to the orphanage even more furious than before. The desire to destroy those who ruined my parents grew every single time and at this point, I was frightened that soon I would try to break into Azkaban to murder the three still living torturers- Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Hopefully, Snape and I would make greater progress with Occlumency before I went _that_ far. I really did not want to spend the rest of my days rotting away in wizarding prison.

There was a knock on the door and both Dr. Thomas and I looked up. The receptionist was back and was peeking her head through the doorway.

"Doctor, your four o'clock is here," she told him.

"Thanks, Marianne," he said and when he heard the door close behind his receptionist, he turned back to me. "I guess our time is up, Ivy."

I held back the desire to give him my best Slytherin sneer, "Yes, it is such a pity that I won't be able to see you until the Christmas holiday, Doctor Thomas."

"Yes, it is certainly a pity," Dr. Thomas repeated, though I was certain inside he was jumping for joy. I was definitely not one of his favorite patients. "Make sure you remind Professor Snape that I still need a weekly report while you are at school."

"Okay," I said. This had been a longstanding arrangement between my psychiatrist and my head of house. I then got up from the chair and headed for the exit, "Bye Doctor Thomas."

"Bye Ivy," he returned and then I slipped out, not wanting to delay my departure from this torture palace any longer.

After a short farewell to the receptionist, I exited the office, jogged out of the building and saw that Ted Tonks was waiting for me outside. He was a big-bellied man with blonde hair and a bloody smile that never went away. He annoyed me most of the time.

"Ready to go back?" he asked, ignoring the scowl that now settled on my face.

"Yes," I muttered and followed him around the corner to do a side-long apparition.

I _hated_ side-long apparitions but I knew the alternative was to spend at least an hour in a car with Ted Bloody Tonks, so I sucked it up. The man was so cheerful all the time that it made me sick to my stomach. Honestly, I could only hear so much about his 'wonderful' wife and his 'hilarious' daughter without wanting to jump out the passenger side door. People's lives should never be that great while others' are pure shite. It wasn't fair.

When my feet hit the pavement again, I instantly vomited. As I said before, I _hated_ apparitions and this was the reason why. My stomach tried to murder me every time my world darkened and I felt that awful squeezing sensation. It was dreadful, but it was not even the worst part. Once I got my bearings, I realized Ted Tonks had started _rubbing_ my back comfortingly. I did not like it when other people touched me and had to resist a strong urge to snap at him.

"Here's some saltines, Ivy," he said and pulled out a plastic baggy full of them. "I had Andromeda pack them for me this morning."

"Thanks," I grunted and shoved one into my mouth to get rid of that acidic taste.

After I swallowed the cracker, I looked back up at Ted Tonks who was bloody smiling again.

"Good?" he asked.

I nodded, pushing down a wave of annoyance, "Should we head back into the orphanage?"

A block away was St. Mildred's. When he brought me back from Dr. Thomas's, Ted Tonks always managed to Apparate us into a back alley by a busy road to prevent detection from the muggles.

"Yes, we'll walk and talk," he said, leading me around the rubbish bins and onto the sidewalk that ran parallel to the road. "So, did your visit with Doctor Thomas go well?"

I scowled at the mention of my psychiatrist, "I only broke one glass this time."

Ted Tonks clapped his hands together, "Excellent Ivy, you're making a lot of progress."

I rolled my eyes. The man was acting as if it was Christmas Day.

"What about Hogwarts? Are you excited to be heading back?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, I can't wait for another Quidditch season," I told him.

Ted Tonks frowned suddenly but before I could blink, it was gone, "What about your studies? What are you looking forward to this year?"

"Defense definitely," I told him. Even though we had a bunch of duds as professors (Quirrell, Lockhart and a duffer named Dedalus Diggle last year), I still loved Defense Against the Dark Arts because of its practicality.

I learned quickly my first year that if you didn't know how to defend yourself, you were basically a goner in the Slytherin Common Room. Older years jinxed the younger years constantly for what they claimed was 'practice', but anyone with half a brain knew they just did it for pure entertainment value. Jinxes and curses flew through the common room so often that I had to hold a shield charm when I walked through.

I know that a shield charm is considered advanced magic for a witch my age, but after I was on the receiving end of a nasty stinging jinx the second week I was ever at Hogwarts, I became a self taught student of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Admittedly, I had Snape give me a few pointers every now and then but I did most of the dirty work, which included countless hours in the library and duels with Tracy in empty classrooms. It required some sacrifice, but no one bothered the half-bloods of Slytherin anymore. People quickly learned that our bark and bite were equally dangerous.

"Yes, Professor Snape informed me you're the top student in your year for that subject," Ted Tonks said, beaming at me. "You must be very proud."

I smirked, remembering the look of dismay on Hermione Granger's face when she realized she wasn't number one in a subject for the first time in her academic career. Though, nothing beat out Callie Longbottom's reaction. Watching the Girl-Who-Lived's eyes water up as she screeched about how much she hated me was one of my favorite Hogwart's memories.

"I wish you would put more effort into your other subjects though," Tonks continued. "You're a smart girl, Ivy. You shouldn't be getting 'Dreadfuls' in History of Magic and Divination. And even your 'Transfiguration' and 'Herbology' grades weren't as high as I was hoping. Those are core subjects."

I scowled, "Why does it matter? I don't need to know Herbology and Transfiguration to be a professional Quidditch player," I reminded him. "All I need to know is how to catch the Snitch."

Ted Tonks sighed, "You never know what will happen in two years or five year or even ten years, Ivy. What if you get hurt and can't play Quidditch anymore? Or what if you suddenly find a love for Healing and discover that your grades at Hogwarts weren't good enough to get you into school? You'd be crushed," I was sure my sponsor could see my glare darkening because he wisely started to wrap up his lecture, "My point is Ivy that things could change in the blink of an eye. Your parents are a prime example of that. You should take advantage of every opportunity you get before it's too late."

The worst part about being lectured by Ted Tonks was that he usually was right. It was easy to blow off Dr. Thomas or Filch or even Snape sometimes because they were either incompetent (in Dr. Thomas's and Filch's case) or blinded by biases (Snape), but it was hard to push aside good advice from my sponsor.

I hated to admit it but in this case, Ted Tonks was right again. My parents had been extremely talented at Hogwarts. They had served as Head Boy and Head Girl in their time and held top marks in their year. Throwing away their gift of intelligence did seem like a slap in their faces, especially when they had possessed the same intelligence and were now incapable of using it.

Even though I secretly agreed with Ted Tonks, I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing it. He was already happy enough without knowing his speech actually made a difference in my attitude towards academics. I would just give him one of my customary surly responses and send him packing.

"Fine," I grumbled.

"Fine, what?"

"I'll put in more effort and all that codswallop," I muttered, slowing down my strides. St. Mildred's was in sight now.

Ted Tonks grinned. Damnit.

"Excellent, I'm glad you see things my way, Ivy," he said as we passed through the gates of the orphanage and my scowl deepened. "I'm going to arrive at nine to pick you up for the Express. Are you packed?"

I thought about my school robes still under my bed and the spell books stashed away in my closet. I was nowhere close to being ready for Hogwarts tomorrow. I would need at least an hour or more until I got all my belongings together.

"You know it," I lied just to get him out of my hair. I did not need another lecture on the importance of preparation. "I guess if that's it, I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Great, I'm glad you're ahead of schedule for once," my sponsor said before I could turn and go. He was used to my hasty goodbyes. He then patted me on the shoulder, which was his version of giving me a hug (since he knows I would probably punch him if he tried to pull that shite). I did my best not to flinch. "I'll see you in the morning, Ivy."

I watched him stumble down the stairs (the man was notoriously clumsy, so this was not surprising in the least) and then disappear out of sight. I sighed as I turned back to face the front door of St. Mildred's, where I could hear a baby shrieking on the top of their lungs. I just had to survive one more night here and then I could go back to Hogwarts.

Only sixteen hours and thirty eight minutes to go….

* * *

So, I hope you enjoyed. I can not guarantee constant updates, but I'll get them out as soon as I can. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Ivy Potter lives in an orphanage- oh wait, sorry a 'children's home'- her parents are vegetables in St. Mungo's and the Girl-Who-Lived is a stuck up, constant pain in her arse. She's a ward of the state, is notorious for her anger 'issues' and might be, just might be a homicidal maniac. Unfortunately for Ivy, dark forces are at play and she can no longer sulk about her miserable existence in the dungeons. AU 4th Year Girl!Harry.

* * *

Girls are the worst.

There, I said it. I hate girls. They're loud. They make a bloody stink of everything. And they're _obsessed_ with their appearances. I might have a X and a Y chromosome too, but you would never catch me dead worrying if my periwinkle blue cloak was in style anymore or gossiping about Sally-Anne Perks and Justin Finch-Fletchley snogging in the train's loo.

Honestly though, I could think of about twenty things on the top of my head I would rather do than that shite. It's not only dreadfully boring, but it's obnoxious. Ever since I started Hogwarts four years ago, it has become more and more apparent why little boys in primary school used to give each other 'cootie shots': they wanted to keep the crazy away.

Of course, I shouldn't be one to talk. With my psychological track record, I am probably one of the craziest girls to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But I think I could make an argument that my crown could easily be usurped by my number one enemy…

Callie Longbottom.

Yes, I know I've mentioned Longbottom before. She's Albus Dumbledore's number one girl. She's intelligent, pretty popular (when she isn't attempting to sic giant snakes on people), is allowed to do dangerous stuff at school and not only gets away with it, but gets bloody _rewarded_ for it.

I could go on and on all day about how much I hate Callie Longbottom, but I don't want to be a bore. My main point is this: Longbottom is a bullying, bitch who has everyone bending over backwards to kiss her arsehole so much that I'm surprised she can still go to the loo in privacy.

"You're staring, Potter," a voice behind me made me turn around in my seat.

Tracy Davis was standing in the doorway to my compartment on the Hogwart's Express and looking dour as usual. The fourth year Slytherin was my ally and (semi) trusted companion during the months while I was in school. Bitter, vindictive and stubborn, she was the perfect package for facing off against the spawn of Satan (i.e. our dorm mates) and taking down Longbottom a peg or (on a good day) five.

"I'm trying to see if I can make Longbottom's head explode if I concentrate hard enough," I explained and went back to glaring at my arch-nemesis through the train's window.

A group of men and women with cameras and notebooks had surrounded Longbottom and an older woman who was wearing a dreadful hat with a stuffed vulture on it. The Girl-Who-Lived smiled brightly as flash after flash went off, illuminating her heart shaped face and blonde hair.

I felt my stomach turn and wondered how the Longbottoms could stand having the papers constantly breathing down their necks. But as I watched Callie let out an overtly exaggerated laugh, I knew the bint enjoyed every second of her fame. Of course, she was always famous, but lately the media was further up her arse after surviving the Sirius Black debacle in June.

It made me sick.

"Merlin, her head is going to be bigger than ever," I muttered, finally turning away from the window when the last warning whistle echoed through the train station.

Davis scowled, "If I hear another story about how she 'stared into the eyes of a murderer,' I might curse her."

I gagged and then shook my head, "I still can't believe Black spared her. He betrayed my parents, but he can't take care of a thirteen year old girl? What's up with that?"

"Azkaban probably made him soft," Davis explained. "My father always said my Uncle William was never the same after they let him out for attacking muggles. His eyes kept glazing over and he was constantly muttering nonsense under his breath. He became completely bonkers. I'm sure Black is the same way."

I nodded but in the back of my mind, I knew Black could not be fully insane. After all, he was the first person to ever break out of Azkaban prison. That feat definitely took a decent amount of sanity and a bit more brain power than the average wizard. Gregory Goyle, a fellow fourth year Sytherin, had all his sanity but if you asked him to break out of Azkaban, he probably would die of starvation before coming up with a single idea how to do it.

I bit my lip and stared out the window again, the train had started pulling away from the station. Black was definitely not cracked. Nope, he was a smart little shite, which was what made him so dangerous.

I asked Davis about her summer and then proceeded to be regaled with a tale about exploring ancient wizarding Chinese cities for the next half hour. Unfortunately, it reminded me of something Longbottom's pet muggleborn would do- turn something enjoyable into a lecture.

"Thanks, Professor Binns," I muttered when she was finally done.

Davis glared at me, "Sorry that I did something interesting this summer. What did you do, Potter? Play with muggles in the park?"

I sneered, but could not help but admire her comebacks. Davis was a master of making her attackers feel like inferiors. It was what had drawn me to her in the first place. After a month of blowing up glassware when someone upset me, Davis showed me it was much easier to use well crafted putdowns against fellow Slytherins instead of flexing my magical muscle. Apparently, using my brawn as an intimidation tactic was too Gryffindor for the snake den.

Of course, I slipped up every now and then at school. I think I broke about forty-two mirrors over the course of last year and that was just during my interaction with Pansy Parkinson in the dormitory. This did not count the cauldrons, plates, telescopes and the Charms book I accidentally set on fire after Anthony Goldstein accused me of being the heir of Slytherin in my second year. But, I was definitely doing better than my first year. When I was eleven, I managed to break a window every time I entered the Great Hall. Professor Dumbledore was not pleased.

Davis and I exchanged barbs for a few more minutes until our compartment door swung open. Longbottom was now standing there with her arms crossing over her (still flat, ha!) chest while being flanked by her goon (Ron Weasley) and her brain (Hermione Granger).

"Oh look who decided to stop by for our annual chat, Davis," I drawled. "It's the Girl-Who-Lived and her lackeys. I wonder if they'll sign autographs."

I noticed Granger frown and I wondered if the intelligent witch was finally fed up with playing second fiddle to a dunce like Longbottom. I would not be surprised if she was. She never quite fit in with their little trio.

Granger had always been Gryffindor enigma. She was extremely bright and was known to use logic before brawn unlike the majority of her housemates. This was why I had been surprised when she started licking Longbottom's shoes in her first year at Hogwarts. It seemed below the muggleborn to attach herself to a reckless bully.

"Was Sirius Black as scary as they say, Longbottom?" Davis joined in. "I heard it is like being in the presence of death himself."

Longbottom sneered (a pretty decent one I must admit), "Do yourself a favor Davis and don't speak about what you don't understand. Though that might be hard for you since you know so little in the first place, I bet you would be practically mute if you followed my advice."

Weasley snorted and I rolled my eyes.

"Clever, Longbottom," Davis said, inspecting her nails. I admired her ability to keep a cool head. I would have probably shattered the windows in our compartment by now. "You're not one to talk though, are you? I've heard you have claimed the coveted last spot in our class's potions rankings. Even Crabbe and Goyle received higher marks than you and there's rumors going around that they share genes with a troll."

Longbottom turned an exquisite shade of red, "Snape is biased-

I cut her off, "There's no bias in amount of the cauldrons you've managed to melt. How many was it last year, Davis?" I asked my Slytherin companion.

"Fifteen," Davis finished for me, flashing the Girl-Who-Lived a feral grin that actually made Weasley flinch (some Gryffindor he was, the cowardly git). "It was a new record for you. I'm surprised it didn't make the front page of the Prophet."

"Ignore them, Callie," Granger cut in calmly before Weasley or Longbottom could blow up. She was the voice of reason for their trio. "They're just jealous-

I laughed. "Jealous? Jealous that Longbottom is a dunce? Jealous that Longbottom gets beaten by me every year in Defense Against the Dark Arts? Jealous that-

Longbottom, who now resembled a tomato, had pulled out her wand and was pointing it straight at my heart, "I'm warning you, Potter. Shut your mouth before I make you."

I scoffed. I thought Longbottom would have picked up a lesson in caution after facing off with a mass murderer last June, but apparently she had not. Before the Gryffindor could blink, I whipped my wand out and pointed it right at the girl's throat. As a seeker with above average hand-eye coordination, I always had a quick draw, which not only helped me succeed in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but also in my dealings with Hogwarts's bullies.

"Your aim is notoriously awful, Longbottom and Dumbledork isn't here to protect you," I reminded my arch-nemesis. "I, on the other hand, have top marks in Defense and am known for burst of magic when I'm in a rage. Are you sure you want to fight me?"

To my surprise, the Girl-Who-Lived hesitated, looking down at her wand and then back at me. I gave the girl a little bit of credit. It took a decent amount of maturity for Longbottom to realize at least deep down she was complete shite with a wand. A lot of people- even some of my Slytherin classmates- were too blinded by pride to come to terms with their own weaknesses. That's how so many people got hurt or worse…

Granger took advantage of the brief pause in our fight to pull on Longbottom's sleeve, "Come on, Callie. It isn't worth it. Let's go back to our compartment and start a game of Exploding Snap. It will be fun-

"Yes Longbottom, please listen to your muggleborn pet- for once- and run along now," Tracey sneered. "You've made a big enough fool of yourself for one day."

Longbottom growled and wrenched herself out of her friend's grip, "No, Hermione!" the Gryffindor snarled at her friend. "These two have been insulting me from the moment we walked in. It's disrespectful. I'm the Girl-Who-Lived! "

I shook my head. I guess I gave my arch-nemesis too much credit before. Longbottom had not matured over the summer. In fact, it seemed she was still as dense as the year before. The girl's near death experiences during the summer had failed to affect her intelligence.

"The only thing you are Longbottom, is a little brat who is getting credit for her mother's magic," I spat. "There's nothing special or extraordinary about you. Everyone with a half of a brain knows you should have died that night in Godric's Hollow. You're just the Dark Lord's accident."

"Furnurculus!" Longbottom roared.

I ducked just in time to let the jinx collide into the window behind me. My wand was already firing off a charm before the Gryffindor could open her mouth again.

"Aguamenti," I whispered- I always valued the element of surprise when dueling- and instantly, water with the strength of a fire hose began to spray the trio. Longbottom and Weasley started shrieking, while Granger attempted to fumble for her wand. Unfortunately, the water's blast was too harsh for her to get a proper grip and it slipped out of her hands and onto the compartment floor.

I cut off the spell once I had all three Gryffindors on their backs.

"Brilliant, mate," Davis said, smirking down at our fallen adversaries.

"A good duelists never limits themselves to jinxes, curses and hexes," I recited, recalling one of the books Snape had lent me over the holiday.

The book titled, "Charming Your Way to Victory", had actually been written by my Charm's professor- Fillius Flitwick. To my surprise, the small professor had been a dueling champion in his youth. I learned from the book that his specialty had been his utilization of everyday charms to throw off his opponents. I had been dying to try this strategy out all summer and was glad Longbottom got to be my guinea pig.

"I'll get you for this, Potter," Longbottom snarled after spitting water out of her mouth. "These robes were a birthday gift from the Minister himself! Don't think I won't tell McGonagall on you!"

"Alright and I'll let Professor Snape know how you attacked first and left me no choice, but to defend myself," I countered and watched with a smirk as Longbottom's face morphed into a frown.

While Longbottom was using her tiny brain to consider the consequence of tattling on me, I watched Granger pick her wand off the floor and cast a drying charm on herself, instantly removing all traces of water from her robes. She glanced over at her still soaking wet companions- who for some reason were too thick to realize they could easily do the same thing- and sighed.

"Let's go," the muggleborn said wearily. "I want to actually enjoy my train ride this year."

I exchanged a quick glance with Davis, whose eyes had widened slightly. That comment had been a bit catty for a girl who was usually a 'yes woman' to Longbottom. I wonder if Granger decided to grow a spine over the summer holidays. I hoped she did. It would be refreshing to see someone besides the Slytherin house stand up to Longbottom every once in a while.

Longbottom looked back at me, still frowning, and I twirled my wand, daring her to try to attack me again. I would have loved another opportunity to humiliate the Gryffindor. Plus, maybe that annoying twit who followed her around with the camera would even get it on film this time. I know if he ever did, for me, it would be the equivalent of Christmas coming early.

"Fine," Longbottom grumbled and was about to turn to leave, when she spat back at me, "This isn't over, Potter."

"It never is," I muttered, as the door closed behind the blonde haired witch and her lackeys.

After the Gryffindors were out of sight, I cast a drying charm over the carpet to remove any trace of water from our compartment. I then repaired the glass window, which had cracked slightly from the impact of Longbottom's jinx. I did not want any evidence of a fight just in case the Prefects decided to patrol on the train. A good Slytherin always covers her tracks.

"I wonder if she'll ever learn," Davis said, once I was done.

I shook my head as I sat down on the bench, "Considering it's our fourth year and she still finds the need to come to our compartment to try and intimidate us, I don't think the lesson has really stuck. Maybe I should start using more painful spells…"

A few hours later, the Hogwart's Express pulled up to Hogsmeade Station. Davis and I were already changed into our Slytherin robes and exited the train at the back of the pack, so we would not bump into anyone we wanted to curse.

"Let's grab that carriage," my companion said and pointed to an empty one at the end of the row. I followed her inside and settled down on the hard bench across from her. Hopefully, we were not going to be joined by some annoying Hufflepuff second year who got lost or worse, a Gryffindor.

"Hello, ladies," two red haired boys chorused in unison and I could not fight the scowl forming on my face.

"What are you two doing here?" Davis questioned, warily eyeing our new travel companions.

George and Fred Weasley- two of Hogwart's most notorious pranksters and the Gryffindor team's Beaters- climbed into our carriage. George- I could always tell from the faint scar above his left eyebrow- plopped down right next to me, while Fred sat besides Davis.

"There's no room left anywhere else," Fred began.

"We got held up on the train after we got busted by Flint-" George informed us.

"-apparently even a troll can qualify as a Slytherin prefect." Fred continued, ignoring Davis's glare. Even though we did not have warm and fuzzy feelings for our Quidditch team's captain, we Slytherins still tried to maintain a unified front in public.

"He did not like our newest creation-

"-they're called Ton-Tongue Toffees.

"5 galleons a pack," Fred added with a wink.

"But for you lovely ladies, we are willing to give you a free sample," George said, throwing an impish grin in my direction, and then pulled out two caramel colored pieces of candy. "Would you like a taste?"

I rolled my eyes at the two Gryffindors, "Do we look stupid to you?"

Fred and George shook their heads, "Of course not," they chorused.

"Which is why we know-

"-you would never pass up a free sample." George finished and held the sweets out to me again.

"You two are ridiculous," Davis muttered.

"We would prefer charming-" George informed us brightly.

"-handsome-"

"-or brilliant."

"In your dreams, weasels," Davis told the twins, whose faces instantly drooped.

"What about you, Potter?" George asked, turning to face me. "We heard you're a bit of a daredevil for a Slytherin. Do you want a bite?"

I smirked at the boy. If he wasn't a Weasley, he would have been manipulative enough to fit right in with the Slytherin house. Unfortunately for him, I bled green and silver. No Gryffindor would connive me into doing something, especially when he was only armed with something as weak as flattery.

"Only if you eat one first," I countered.

George smirked back at me. He knew I just played him, which I admired as a Slytherin. Not many Gryffindor's possessed enough intelligence to give up when they had been beaten. Unfortunately, his twin brother was more determined.

"A true artist only wishes to see their work enjoyed by the public," Fred argued. "Where's the satisfaction in consuming your own product?"

"So, you're artists now?" I asked the red head across from me. "My, my, you Weasley boys have certainly become more cultured over the summer. I'm sure the Gryffindor girls will lining up at your dormitory door for an opportunity to take you to Madam Puddifoots."

Both Fred and George blanched at the suggestion, which was understandable.

Madam Puddifoots was the most awful shop Hogsmeade village. All the most irritating Hogwart's girls dragged their boyfriends or potential boyfriends to the place, which served tea and was covered from ceiling to floor with flowers and girly shite. It reeked of perfume- even from the outside- and I heard from many of my Slytherin Quidditch teammates, the tea wasn't even that great. I swore to myself the moment I spotted that hellscape in my third year, I would never step inside. So far, I had kept that promise- thank, Merlin.

"Okay, we're not artists, but we are pranksters," George cut in to assist his twin. "You don't have to try our product, but we were hoping you could slip it to someone at your table during the feast. We need as many test subjects as we can get."

I thought of my dorm-mate, Pansy Parkinson, and smirked. Whatever the Weasley twins had cooked up, it certainly was not meant to be enjoyed. It was tempting to start the year off with a bang and remind that fat pug and her lackeys that Davis and I were not ones to mess with.

"Fine, you have a deal," I told the twins, who both grinned, "_But,_ you're going to have to give me free samples in the future," I thought of Callie Longbottom. "I have other… people I want to introduce your products to when I get the opportunity."

George grabbed my hand and began to shake it, "Deal, Potter."

After a slippery trip back into the castle (Peeves decided it would be fun to pelt everyone with water balloons on their way back inside… bastard), Davis and I settled in with our fellow fourth year Slytherins at our house table. Most of them glared at us, but we got nods of acknowledgement from Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, which was as good as a 'hello' in the pureblood world.

After another brutally boring sorting, which I spent with my eyes closed- per usual- I looked up at the head table to see Dumbledore glaring down at me. This was a typical event. Ever since I got sent to his office in my first year for pushing Callie Longbottom into the Black Lake, I had not been his favorite student. He always questioned me in the corridors whenever we crossed paths and when Callie and I got sent to his office for fighting, he would _always_ take her side. It was quite annoying.

"The old man is giving me the evil eye again," I muttered to Davis, who rolled her own eyes.

"Ignore that buffoon, Potter," my companion advised. "He's just pissed that you can curse better than Longbottom. I bet you ten Galleons Dumbledork is probably embarrassed that his 'Golden Child' gets her arse kicked by a Slytherin on a daily basis."

I nodded, but the uneasy feeling I usually got during meal times that I was being watched did not go away until the feast was more than halfway done. When I felt those creepy, twinkling blue eyes finally leave the back of my skull, I decided to initiate Operation: Mortify Dog-Face Parkinson to the Point of Tears. It was not my most clever operation title, but any expert troublemaker knew execution was all that mattered.

"Shite," I cursed loudly as the Ton-Tongue Toffee flew across the Slytherin table and smacked against Parkinson's plate.

The half-brained twit picked up my candy and held it up, "Is this yours, Potty?" she cackled, using her favorite nickname for me. Parkinson thought it was clever. I thought any three year old could come up with the same exact thing.

"Yes! Give it back, Parkinson," I growled dramatically, hoping she would take the bait.

She did.

"I don't think so, Potty," my fellow Slytherin said, grinning now. "I fancy I'll keep it for myself. It looks quite good."

"You're a bitch, Parkinson," I snarled. "That's top shelf candy. I used my last Sickle on that!"

Parkinson tore off the wrapper, "Too bad, Potty. It's mine now."

Without another thought, the twit popped the toffee into her mouth, still grinning widely. I continued to glare at her- for appearance sake- until Parkinson began to cough.

"What- is- this- Potty-" she managed to sputter between coughs.

Suddenly, Parkinson was no longer coughing, but gagging. Something was protruding from the Slytherin girl's mouth, something that was purple, slimy and almost a foot long. I realized after a second of bewilderment that that 'something' was Parkinson's tongue.

I looked over at the Gryffindor table and spotted George Weasley. The redhead had a huge grin on his face while he gave me a thumbs up. I returned the gesture with a smile of my own and then, turned back to Parkinson who was still choking on her oversized tongue.

"Someone help her!" Daphne Greengrass, a fellow Slytherin fourth year, shrieked, which captured the attention of the entire hall.

Everyone stared at Parkinson and her now two foot long tongue. A lot of people began to laugh, which was understandable since Pansy Parkinson was universally despised by the Hogwart's community. The only people who tolerated her were Daphne Greengrass, Milicent Bullstrode and Draco Malfoy- but only when he wanted Parkinson to stick her tongue down his throat when he was bored. Though after this incident, I doubted Parkinson would be snogging for a long time.

Finally, it was Professor Snape who came swooping down from the staff table to shrink Parkinson's tongue. To my disappointment, the Weasley twin's prank was only a simple Engorgement charm. That made it quick work for my Potion's Master, who seemed to have his wand in and out of his robes before Parkinson's tongue was a normal size again.

"Which immature, half-brained imbecile did this to Miss Parkinson?" Professor Snape demanded to know, though his gaze was already fixated on me. Typical.

Instantly, half the Slytherin table had their fingers pointed at me. In fact, the only person who held out near me was Davis and that was only out of pure loyalty. I rolled my eyes at all of them besides my ally.

What a bunch of twits. Didn't they have a sense of humor?

"I warned her not to eat it, sir," I told my mentor and Head of House. "It's not my fault Parkinson didn't listen."

"Regardless of your warning Miss Potter, you still were in possession of a contraband item within Hogwart's grounds," Professor Snape informed me.

I opened my mouth to argue that it wasn't a Zonko's product, which did not make it contraband, but then I remembered those Weasley twins would be in _huge_ trouble if I ratted them out. From their pranking track record, I knew it would be wiser for me to keep George and Fred Weasley as allies than have them as enemies. So, I closed my mouth and waited for my punishment.

"Detention after the feast," Professor Snape told me. "I have a lot of toad livers to remove before classes resume tomorrow. Bring your gloves, Miss Potter. It will be messy."

A few people snickered as the Potions Master swooshed away. I glared at them, which silenced most of them. Whoever said being loved was better than being feared was an idiot. I loved being feared.

"Tough break, Potter," Davis muttered.

I shrugged, "Having the memory of Parkinson's purple tongue beats out any detention Professor Snape could have possibly given me. I'll take it."

"Why didn't you snitch on those Weasleys?" she asked me after taking a bite of Yorkshire pudding.

I glanced over at the Gryffindor table, where George was whispering into his twin's ear with a big grin on his face. They both laughed and then George scribbled something down on a piece of parchment.

"I have enough enemies at Hogwarts without adding them to the list," I told her and returned to my dessert.

After the crumbs disappeared off everyone's plates, Dumbledork got to his feet. He surveyed us through his half-moon spectacle with a smile. It was hard to hold back my desire to sneer at the buffoon.

"So! Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

The headmaster started his usual speech with mentioning the contraband items. Of course the old duffer had to comment on my escapades, "Oh, and let me add to that list the item Miss Potter slipped Miss Parkinson during dinner time," which earned me a few glares from students and professors alike. Dumbledork then continued by giving the same warnings about the Forbidden Forrest and Hogsmeade that he did year after year. After that though, the headmaster said something so horrifying that it gave me nightmares for the rest of the term.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

CRACK!

Instantly, all of the glassware at the Slytherin table shattered. I swore under my breath. Once again, my magic had gotten away from me, which meant there were probably over two hundred pairs of eyes on me at this very moment. However, I was not the only student to get emotional from the announcement. I looked around the Great Hall and spotted Flint gripping his fork so angrily that I thought he was going to bend the metal with his bare hands. Over at the Ravenclaw table, Cho 'the hoe' Chang looked like they announced Madam Puddifoot had been shut down and the Weasley twins were gaping at Dumbledore like a bunch of fish out of water.

"Yes, I know this is hard to process for some of you," the headmaster continued and looked at me pointedly again. He was probably upset he would have to repair all the dishes again. "But, this is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy- but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely." I snorted. What event could be more enjoyable than Quidditch? "I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-"

Suddenly, a great rumble of thunder shook the Great Hall, followed by the two giant oak doors banging open. A man stepped into the room, who looked like a cross breed between a 'Disney' witch and the Hunchback of Notre Dame. He was hideous with tangled, dark hair, scarred skin and a bloody wooden leg (which was a bit of overkill with the creepiness if you ask me). However, what was the most frightening about this stranger were his eyes. One was beady and dark, while the other one was large and a vivid shade of blue. It rolled around in its socket so much that at one point the only part of his eyes that I saw was the white.

"There's a bloke who will never win 'Witch Weekly's Most Handsome Man Award,'" I whispered to Davis, who could only roll her eyes back at me.

The monster-man shook hands with Dumbledork- unfortunately, not attacking the old loon- and took a seat on the headmaster's right side. Ignoring all the looks of horror- I was certain a man that ugly was used to them- he began to spear some leftover sausage with a small knife from his pocket and after sniffing it, began shoveling it into his mouth.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledork said cheerfully. "Professor Moody."

The only two people who clapped were Professor Hagrid and Dumbledork. Everyone else just stared up at the headmaster as if he grew a second head. Seriously, how could he let this bloke who looked like he just got rejected from the stomach of the Giant Squid into his school to teach children? Even McGonagall looked skeptical and she usually kissed the headmaster's arse every chance she got.

"Now that introductions are out of the way," Dumbledork smiled down at his horrified students' faces. "Let me continue with the announcement. This year we have the great honor of holding an event, which has not taken place in over a century. It is my great pleasure to announce that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" someone yelled from the Gryffindor table.

Laughter instantly broke out amongst the other students, but I sat there dumbfounded. I had no idea what this Triwizard thing was. Never before had it come across in my readings over the last three years of my magical education. Either it was not important enough to know about when muggleborns were introduced to our magical society or our professors decided to purposefully skirt around the details because they were not flattering. Considering our headmaster was a master of not informing his student body when something dangerous was occurring in the school, I was going to assume the latter. The Triwizard Tournament probably had a dark history with a lot of death and destruction and now it was coming to our school- bloody perfect.

Halfway through my thoughts, I realized Dumbledork was speaking again.

"- a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxtbatons, and Durmstrang," I snorted at that. I could bet my Firebolt broomstick that this competition was going to be far from friendly. "A champion was selected to represent each school and the three champions competed in three magical tasks,"

I glanced over at Longbottom and noticed she was on the edge of her seat. Of course, she wanted to compete in this tournament. She lived to do dangerous things to inflate her already oversized ego.

I tuned back in realizing I missed more of Dumbledork's ramblings again.

"It was an excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities- until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

I rolled my eyes. I knew there was something fishy about this tournament. There was no way a competition like this could be cancelled for a full century unless there were multiple deaths involved. Wasn't Hogwarts dangerous enough with mass murderers breaking in whenever they wanted, dark lords posing as teachers and a bloody basilisk roaming the pipes, without adding a dangerous tournament to the mix? It seemed a bit absurd at this point in my magical education that I had to possibly face death every year since I've passed through those wooden doors.

Well, this year I was going to stay clear of that bloody tournament. There was no way I was risking my neck for eternal glory and all that codswallop, especially when I had parents who were permanent patients in St. Mungo's. After growing up with that experience, I liked to think I valued my mortality a bit more than the average person.

Dumbledork continued to explain how the tournament was now non-life threatening (bullshit) and then delved into the timeline of events for the tournament. The other schools would show up at Hogwarts towards the middle of October and present a list of students suicidal enough to want to compete. From there, an impartial judge would decide whether they were worthy to represent their school.

If they did manage to survive and win, there would be a thousand galleons and eternal glory waiting for them at the end of the deadly rainbow. This idea seemed to entice all the poorer students of Hogwarts, such as the Weasley twins, who were whispering excitedly to each other.

I looked down my own table at my own housemates. Most of them had their noses turned up at the idea of risking their lives for money. After all, who needed to perform death-defying feats when they had plenty of Galleons in their vaults to sustain them until a natural death?

"The Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year," Dumbledork informed us, breaking through the whispers. "Only students who are of age- that is to say, seventeen years or older- will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This-"

Instantly, students from all four houses began to make noises of outrage, cutting Dumbledork's speech off. I don't know why they were so upset. If I were a first or second year, you could not give me a million Galleons to enter that bloody tournament. Creating an age restriction on this death trap was probably the first smart thing Dumbledork and the Ministry of Magic had done since I became aware of the wizarding world almost ten years ago and that was saying a lot.

The headmaster ignored all the rumblings and continued his speech. He explained how the tasks were too difficult and dangerous for anyone below sixth and seventh year. However, this did nothing to curb the whispers of mutiny that seemed to be spreading through the Great Hall, so he added, "I will personally be ensuring that no under-age student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion."

This had quieted the room and for a good reason.

Everyone with half a brain knew Dumbledork was an extremely powerful wizard. Even me, with all my harbored hatred towards the oaf, acknowledged that. With that firm proclamation, I knew even the Weasley twins with all their cleverness and ingenuity would not be able to enter their names into the tournament. Dumbledork would not be fooled by a bunch of school children.

After our headmaster was finally done with his speech, he sent us off to bed. I followed Davis out the Great Hall, slipping passed a still pale Parkinson, who looked ready to have words with me. Since she had a particularly grating voice, I was glad to escape her presence.

"So, what do you think?" Davis asked me. "Are you going to seek out eternal glory?"

I laughed, "Nah, I'd rather see Longbottom make a giant fool out of herself. That would be worth more than any Galleons they could give me."

My companion shot me a look of disbelief, "Do you think that half-wit could actually be chosen as Hogwart's champion? She would have to fool Dumbledore for one thing. And then, she'd actually have to find some magical talent between now and October. I think that's an impossible feat."

I shook my head, "This is Longbottom we're talking about. The rules don't apply to her. I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore hasn't already hand chosen her as Hogwart's Champion."

"Potter."

Professor Snape swooped out from behind a suit of armor. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. I thought the world of the man, but he could be such a bloody drama queen sometimes. Couldn't he make a normal entrance for once?

"Yes, professor?" I asked innocently. I wondered if he overheard our conversation.

"I hope you did not forget about my detention."

My heart sank. In the excitement about the tournament, it had completely slipped my mind.

"Never, sir," I lied.

"Good, remember don't forget your gloves," he added with a nasty smirk and then, disappeared into the shadows once more.

"There's no way he isn't related to vampires," I muttered, before trudging down to the dungeons.

It was going to be a _long _night.

* * *

Well, there's chapter 2. This chapter is a bit of a set-up for things to come. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Ivy Potter lives in an orphanage- oh wait, sorry a 'children's home'- her parents are vegetables in St. Mungo's and the Girl-Who-Lived is a stuck up, constant pain in her arse. She's a ward of the state, is notorious for her anger 'issues' and might be, just might be a homicidal maniac. Unfortunately for Ivy, dark forces are at play and she can no longer sulk about her miserable existence in the dungeons. AU 4th Year Girl!Harry.

* * *

If I wanted to, I could start this whole bit off with a bunch of clichéd quotes about rain. The pouring rain reflected my misery that I was forced to endure my first week back at Hogwarts. The heavy rain masked the tears falling out of my eyes after Professor Moody's first lesson. The rain washed the old, angry me away and left a stronger, better version of me in its place. But, any twit knows clichés are pansy, girly bullshit, so I refuse to fall that low by using them.

Here are the real facts about Thursday, September 8th, 1994: 1) I was sad 2) It _happened_ to be raining. 3) Clichés suck. So, please don't judge me for being a giant cliché on this day. It was not my fault. It happened to be a coincidence that Professor Moody decided to kick off fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts by showing the class the three Unforgivable Curses and it happened to be a coincidence that it was raining that day- so there.

Now, I'll be honest. I was surprised to find out when we walked into class on Thursday after lunch that Unforgivable Curses would be the first item covered on our syllabus. I personally predicted practical magic considering we were being taught by an ex-Auror- word travels fast in the Slytherin Common Room- and that our class would be starting off with either the stunner, 'Stupefy,' or the shield charm, 'Protego.' Imagine my shock to find out we were passing over all of that to get right to one of the harshest forms of magic- Unforgivable Curses.

I might have mentioned before, but Defense Against the Dark Arts is my favorite subject. I pride myself on knowing the nitty-gritty of the discipline. I might not be capable of casting all the curses, jinxes and hexes yet, but I still possessed enough knowledge to know when to duck and dodge and when to let a spell hit my shield charm.

This was why I, like any good student of Defense Against the Dark Arts, was well aware of the big three: Crucio, Imperio and the worst of the worst- Avada Kedavra. I personally even had a jumpstart on this area. Unlike most students, I found out about the first one, the Cruciartis Curse, before I came to Hogwarts.

When I was five, I finally started to comprehend my parents weren't exactly normal. Sure, they were fun to be around. What five year old did not enjoy playing peek-a-boo with their father or blowing chewing gum with their mother? But, they were not like the other adults I had encountered. They did not talk about what was in the paper or carry briefcases around or worry about shopping for groceries. My parents acted more like me- a five year old.

I was a curious child, so naturally I questioned my Ministry Sponsor, Ted Tonks, about my parents' odd behavior. I remember his reaction well. He started spluttering and then, the clumsy man tripped over his own feet and crashed head first into a food trolley at St. Mungo's.

My sponsor was never the best with awkward conversations.

A few healing spells later, I found out that my parents had been the victims of a magical attack. Bad men and a bad woman had put them under a terrible curse called the Cruciartis that had hurt them so much, they no longer acted like adults, but acted more like me. This was Ted Tonk's way to tell me, my parents had lost their minds that November night in 1981.

As I got older, I learned more and more about the Cruciartis Curse from a combination of books and the Healers at St. Mungo's. I found out it was the torture spell and prolonged exposure of it resulted in permanent damage to that person's neurological system. It did not take much to put two and two together and realize my parents must have been tortured for _hours _under the curse.

I've been told by countless people- Dr. Thomas, Ted Tonks, Healers and even Professor McGonagall- how brave my parents are and how I should be openly proud of them. Don't get me wrong, I am proud of my parents. They are two of the bravest people I've ever met. However, I don't need people's pity. Pity won't bring back my parents' sanity or make me feel better about living in an orphanage. Pity does nothing for me.

The only thing that will do anything for me is revenge.

I digress though. It would be so easy to fall into my usual murderous rage, but I think I've made it quite clear by now that I want everyone who was connected to my parents attack dead and preferably in the most painful way possible.

Anyway, I should move onto the real reason I'm currently flying in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch in a downpour and that would be my first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year.

That afternoon, Professor Moody had started class by demonstrating the three Unforgivable Curses on spiders. Longbottom's goon, Weasley, demonstrated a rare moment of intelligence and offered up the first one- the Imperius Curse. I had watched in morbid fascination as the spider did circus tricks- cartwheels, back flips- and then began to tap dance. Most of my classmates had begun to laugh, but I could not help but wonder in the back of my mind whether my parents were put under this curse the night they lost their sanity. Did those bastards force my mother or father to do back flips? Cartwheels? Or worse?

Moody broke up the laughter instantly by reminding the class the Imperius Curse could make people do terrible, terrible things. The caster could make could make someone jump out a window or drown themselves or other suicidal actions. My toes had curled up in my trainers at the thought of someone forcing me to do any of those things against my will. The lack of control would be terrifying.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?" Moody asked.

I raised my hand and Moody's magical eye had swiveled to meet my own green ones.

"Yes?"

"The Cruciartus Curse," I replied almost robotically, trying to ignore the nausea bubbling in my stomach. "It's used for torture."

"What's your name again, girl?" the professor had asked me, now with two eyes fixed on me.

"Ivy Potter."

Moody nodded, though his magical eye did not leave me as he pulled a second spider from the jar. He placed the motionless animal on the desk before placing an Engorgement Charm on it- "to get the full idea of what the curse could do". The spider had grown to the size of a large tarantula, making a few girls in the classroom gasp and made Weasley back his chair away.

"Crucio!" Moody growled, jabbing his wand at the spider.

Instantly, the spider began to twitch horribly and had rocked back and forth. There was no sound coming from the creature, but I swore if the spider had a voice it would be screaming on the top of its lungs- one of those awful, bloody, gut wrenching screams that you could feel to your very bones. Despite the amount of pain the spider was in, Moody did not let the curse up, even as the creature had began to shudder and jerk more violently.

I had closed my eyes and could not help, but picture my mother shrieking on the floor and twitching. I could see my father rocking back and forth, begging his attackers to stop the pain. My finger nails dug into my skin, harsher than they ever had before. Pain was stabbing my hands, but I knew it was nothing close to the pain my parents felt in November of 1981. Soon enough, blood had started dripping down my forearm and in the distance I could hear a rattling sound.

"Potter," someone was shaking me, but I could not open my eyes to look at them. Screams were echoing in my skull- my parents screams. I had heard them last year when I got too close to the Dementors and now they were back. "Potter, snap out of it! Ivy!"

BOOM!

My eyes had flown open just as every window in the classroom shattered. Glass had started falling onto the floor, making a loud clattering sound. Girls were screaming and chairs were scraping across the floor as people scrambled to get away from the windows. I did not care though. Let them scream. They knew nothing.

I was already out of my seat before Moody could restore order. I had ignored a pale Davis, who was staring up at me with wide brown eyes as if I was some kind of monster, picked up my knapsack with bloody hands and had started stomping towards the classroom door.

"POTTER, GET BACK HERE!" Moody had bellowed from the front of the classroom, but I paid him no heed. I would not stop for anyone, even a professor.

As if the doors of the room had heard my thoughts, they sprung open with a thundering BANG, rocking the entire room. Ignoring the new set of shrieks behind me, I marched all the way from the Defense corridor down to the grounds.

When I got outside, I was instantly pelted by a steady rain. I grunted in annoyance, but it did not stop me from entering the Slytherin Quidditch locker room, undoing my padlock and pulling out my favorite possession- my Firebolt racing broom.

Leaving my other belongings behind, I grabbed a set of practice Quaffles from the supply cupboard and headed outside again. The rain was coming down even harder now. I could barely see three feet in front of me, but I did not care. I kicked off the muddy ground, feeling the wind in my tangled black hair. I could forget all my problems up here in the air. No one could touch me. No one could tell me what to do. I was free.

I did a few laps around the pitch, pushing my broomstick to top speeds and ignoring the stinging sensation that came from my bleeding hands pressing against the hard wood. I knew I should be crying or screaming or trying to hit something, but all I wanted to do was fly. Fly until I forgot my parents in St. Mungo's. Fly until I forgot the spider's silence screams. Fly until I forgot everything.

After I finished my laps, I picked up the Quaffles and repeatedly chucked them at the three hoops. After a half hour, my hands stopped bleeding. After an hour, I was so numb that I could not even feel the rain on my skin anymore. After two hours, I was no longer alone.

I did not notice a black and red blur had kicked off from the ground until it was right in front of me, blocking the three hoops. I glared at my intruder.

"What do you want, Weasley?" I shouted over the howling wind.

Instead of shirking away from like any normal human being, George Weasley grinned back at me, "Practicing for next season, Potter? I thought you played Seeker?"

"I needed more instant satisfaction," I explained. "Getting a Quaffle in a hoop is a lot easier than finding the Snitch in this mess."

He nodded, "Fair enough. What are you doing up here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I countered. "I thought it would be pretty obvious that I wanted to be left alone."

"Well, I heard rumors about some crazy girl flying in the middle of a rainstorm and I had to come and see if they were true," George explained.

"Why didn't you leave it at the seeing part?" I asked him. "It would have saved you a lot of trouble."

The Gryffindor grinned, "Because that 'crazy girl' was you, Potter, and I wanted to speak to you anyway, so why not now?"

"I don't know, maybe because I'm flying in the middle of a bloody rainstorm! That could be a clue," I shot back sarcastically and flew around the annoying redhead, hurling the Quaffle into the top hoop.

"If you think I would let something like a little rain stop me, you obviously don't know my House well," George told me after retrieving the Quaffle for me. "I'm a Gryffindor. We're known to do stupid things like this."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "Are you calling me stupid?"

He shook his head, "Of course not, you must have a good reason for being out here."

"You're not going to ask me what that reason is?"

"I've never been nosey, Potter. If you decided to spend hours in the pouring rain by yourself over something, I'm assuming you want it to stay private," George reasoned.

I hid my surprise by taking another go at the hoops. This time, however, the Gryffindor flew up to block my shot, sending the Quaffle spiraling away.

"What was that for?" I shouted angrily.

"Where's the fun in Quidditch Potter, without any challenge?" George asked me, grinning again like the loon that he was.

"I didn't ask you to play Keeper," I told him icily after retrieving the fallen Quaffle.

"Are you scared I would block too many shots, Slytherin?"

I gripped my broom tightly, "In your dreams, Gryffindork."

After that challenge, I spent the next half hour shooting at George Weasley, who was a pretty talented keeper- if I must admit. He saved a good amount of my shots and the ones that I did manage to get in were more on account of luck than skill on my part. Soon enough, I started getting tired- I had been out there for two and a half hours after all- and asked George if he didn't mind calling it a day.

"Of course not, why would I want to hang out in the middle of a downpour if you weren't around?"

This comment would make most girls blush, but not me. No Gryffindor would ever get under my skin.

I returned my broom and the Quaffles to the Slytherin locker room, cast a drying charm on my robes and then walked back outside. Thankfully, the storm was finally letting up. The evening sun was starting to poke through the grey clouds and the wind was dying down to a breeze.

"Ready, Potter?"

George had been waiting for me outside my locker room. He was grinning… again and looked to be up to no good.

"What's so funny?" I asked him warily, looking around for a trap.

"Oh, nothing," he said innocently.

"Nothing from a Weasley twin always means something," I countered.

"You wound me, Potter," the Gryffindor gasped dramatically.

I rolled my eyes. I knew he was too stubborn to ever admit to anything, so I decided to drop it.

"Where is your brother?" I asked, as we started to walk back to the castle.

"Which one? I have several. Bill is curse breaking in Egypt. Charlie is taming dragons in Romania. Percy is probably kissing someone's arse at the Ministry. Ron-

"I'm talking about your _twin_ brother," I cut in, resisting an urge to roll my eyes again. "I don't think I've ever seen you two apart."

"Ohhhhh, that brother," George said, grinning again before he had to dance out of the way to avoid getting elbowed by me. "Well, now that we have no Quidditch practice to take up our afternoons, Fred is engaging in other _extracurricular activities_ with one of the lovely ladies from my House."

I blanched at the idea, "That's a nice way of putting it."

"I know, Potter. I've been rumored to be clever from time to time."

George held open the door for me, as we passed back into the castle. I was careful to check my trainers for mud before stepping on the stone floor. Filch would have a conniption if I tracked any through the castle and I did not fancy another detention this week. Disemboweling toads with Snape after the Welcoming Feast was horrifying enough for me to actively avoid a repeat incident at least for a while.

"So, why did you come outside in the first place, again?" I asked, climbing the staircase next to the Gryffindor. "You never told me."

"I wanted to thank you for the other night," George told me. "I meant to after the feast, but you were already gone."

I waved him off, "It wasn't a big deal. Any time I can make Parkinson into a fool is a good time for me."

The sixth year smiled, "Fred was surprised when you didn't give us up to Snape and I have to say, I am as well. I thought self-preservation was a Slytherin thing."

"I come from two Gryffindors," I told him. "I can be loyal when I want to."

"You just didn't want us to prank you in retaliation," George countered and I had to hide my smile. He hit it right on the head. "I knew it! You are a Slytherin through and through."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Nah," he said with a shrug. "Some of you are slimy gits, but not all of you are too terrible."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered.

"That's a lot coming from a Gryffindor and you know it," George argued.

"Ahem."

I jumped at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me. George and I turned around to see Snape looming behind us. He was frowning- per usual- and looked at both of us as if we were a nasty bug he wanted to squish.

"You have been particularly elusive this afternoon, Miss Potter," my mentor informed me with the beginnings of a sneer on his lips and I wondered how long he had searched the castle for me. "Professor Moody has brought to my attention that you departed his lecture before it came to its completion. Do you care to elucidate why you think you are above everyone that you can pick up and leave whenever you choose?"

"Not particularly, sir," I said through gritted teeth, hoping he would realize I did not want to discuss this issue in front of George Weasley.

"Detention at eight then, Miss Potter," he said. "And do not think Doctor Thomas will not be made aware of this."

I glared at my mentor. I wanted to hex him for mentioning my psychiatrist in front of George. Hopefully the Gryffindor did not press the issue with me. I would hate to turn my wand against him unless it was necessary.

"But sir, she was clearly upset about something," George argued on my behalf. "I can leave if you want to discuss it, but I don't think Ivy should be punished."

"Did I ask for your opinion, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked the Gryffindor icily.

"No," George muttered. "But still-

My mentor cut him off, "Miss Potter has been told time after time to control her emotions, Mr. Weasley. If she is having episodes in class, she clearly isn't doing an adequate job following this advice. This is why Miss Potter will serve detention at eight, while ten points will be taken away from Gryffindor for your unnecessary impertinence. Do I make myself clear?"

George clenched his fists, "Yes, sir."

"Excellent, I'm pleased something has finally managed to penetrate your brain after six years, Mr. Weasley," Snape said nastily. "Leave us now, so I can escort Miss Potter back down to the dungeons."

Still sporting a frown, George turned away from the two of us and did not look back as he trudged up the staircase and out of sight. I felt bad, but he should have known by now that no one gets in Snape's way, especially not Gryffindors.

"Why were you in the company of that boy, Miss Potter?" Snape asked me, once George was out of hearing range.

"He was on the Pitch, while I was," I told my professor, as we started walking towards the dungeons. "He was just accompanying me inside."

"He was on the Pitch in the middle of a rainstorm?" Snape countered. "You, with all your masochist tendencies I could see doing that, but George Weasley? He was only there for one reason, Miss Potter, and I can already tell you I don't approve."

I felt a blush creeping to my cheeks, "We're not together," I hissed. "Honestly, we were just throwing the Quaffle around."

"That might have been the way you saw it, Miss Potter, but you are a female," Snape said, frowning more deeply now. "The male mind works in a different way."

I gagged, "Are we really have the _Talk_ right now, professor? If so, excuse me while I throw myself off the Astronomy Tower."

Snape seemed to turn paler, if that was even possible, "Don't be absurd, Miss Potter. I don't engage in _that_ with my female students. All I'm doing is giving you my warnings now as your Head of House- stay away from George Weasley. He's a sneak and a troublemaker just like your father. Nothing good will come from that boy. I guarantee it."

I rolled my eyes. Snape made no effort to hide the fact that he _despised_ my father. After some research through old yearbooks in my third year, I discovered Snape, my dad and my mum were all classmates. I did not know any details about their relationship, but I assumed my dad and Snape probably got into it a few times, since the former was a Gryffindor and the latter a Slytherin. It must have been a particularly bad case of bullying since Snape was still so bitter about it.

"Now, are you going to inform me why you caused such a scene in Professor Moody's class today?" my mentor asked me, once we stopped outside his office door.

I looked up and down the corridor. There were a few Slytherins passing through on their way to dinner.

"Not out here, I won't."

Snape sighed, "Fine, come inside then."

My Head of House's office was fairly simple- a black desk in the center, rows and rows of books covering the walls and a shelf with nasty looking potion ingredients right above where Snape sat. It was a cold office. There were no pictures of loved ones on the desk, like McGonagall or Flitwick's. Nor were there any personal items or magical creatures, like Dumbledork's. It suited my mentor though. He was always such an empty, miserable bastard.

I took a seat in the chair in front of his desk and waited for Snape to speak first.

"So now that you have my private audience, explain yourself, Miss Potter."

"It was stupid," I muttered. "I got angry…"

Snape pulled a piece of parchment off his desk, "Oh yes, it definitely was your most violent display of immature anger yet. Let's see what destruction you caused… Twenty shattered windows, the damage of Professor Moody's personal items, the hinges of the classroom doors needed to be replaced, the chalkboard cracked… Shall I continue or do you get the picture?"

"I think I get the idea, sir," I muttered.

"You still have failed to inform me _why_ this occurred, Miss Potter. I know your embarrassing bout of anger last week was over Quidditch, but this occurrence still remains a mystery. Shall I probe your mind?"

"No," I growled. I hated it when my professor employed Occlumency against me. He insisted it was for the benefit of my magical education, but I thought it was another tool for him to belittle me with.

"Then tell me," he said, more firmly now.

I stared stubbornly at the floor. I did not want to look into those deep black, bottomless pits, he called eyes. It would only upset me more and I had blown up enough things today without adding Professor Snape's office to the list.

"Professor Moody used the Cruciartis Curse."

"Against you?" my mentor asked me and my ears picked up the anger in his voice.

"No, on a spider…." I told him and shuddered, as the memories of the twitching creature filled my mind again. "I had never seen the curse used before. What it did… and I just thought of my parents… and how they must have been screaming for hours and hours, rocking back and forth on that floor because of those monsters."

There was now a stinging sensation in my eyes and I felt my hands curl into fists.

"I'll kill them," I insisted, a wave of white, hot rage suddenly rising up in me. "I'll kill them all. Make them scream until they can't scream anymore. They'll pay for what they did. I swear it on the Houses of Potter and Peverell. They'll all burn."

There was silence in the office. Perhaps, Profesor Snape was mentally drafting a letter to Dumbledore informing him I was too loony to remain amongst the innocent student body and for the school's safety, I should be sent to Azkaban as soon as possible. Maybe, it was silent because we were both in shock nothing had exploded after my outburst. Or maybe there was just nothing to say at all. What could my mentor say to me at this point that would change my mind about going after my parents' attackers? Think about how much I have to lose? It was a laughable idea. I had already lost everything before the age of two years old.

"You're nothing like her, you know?" Snape finally said after a few minutes had gone by.

"Who?"

"Your mother, Lily, she was always a kind soul," my mentor told me and this time, I could not help but meet his gaze. It was equivalent to being under a microscope. "Even at her worst, she was never as hateful as you."

I knew I should feel ashamed that I was nothing like my mother, but I did not. She grew up surrounded by family, while I was alone. My mother was pretty and popular and smart, while I had messy black hair, no true friends and received average grades. We had nothing in common besides the green eyes we shared. I had accepted these facts a long time ago and unfortunately, nothing my mentor could say would ever change me into her.

I did not know how to respond to Snape's words without saying something I would regret later so instead, I excused myself and walked back to the Slytherin Common Room and locked myself away in my dormitory. That night, I was unable to sleep. The only thing I could do was think of were two people hundreds of miles away in London and wonder why everything had gone to shite.

* * *

Yes, this was an angsty chapter. I apologize but in the fourth book, Harry had difficulties seeing the Killing Curse for the first time because of its connections to his parents and I figured seeing the Cruciartis would be just as difficult for this female version of him (plus, this version of him has a lot more trouble keeping her temper).

To answer readers questions...

1) Yes, Callie Longbottom has the scar and all that comes with it (horcrux, Parsletongue, etc). She is the Girl-Who-Lived, not Ivy. The reason she is so arrogant (unlike the Neville we know and love) is a result of her upbringing. Dumbledore placed Harry with the Dursley's not only for the blood protection, but also to prevent him from getting a big head. In this case, Callie has a living, witch relative (her pureblood grandmother) who clearly did a poor job keeping her out of the media spotlight. We'll see later on if Callie changes for the better as a result of the events surrounding her (I would prefer her not to remain a brat forever. I like Neville's character too much).

2) Sirius is Ivy's godfather. There is a specific reason both Sirus and Remus Lupin have been removed from her life. Let's just say, it was not an accident Lupin was not her DADA professor in Ivy's third year.

3) The reason why Ivy was placed in a Children's Home and not with the Dursley's was because unlike Harry- who Dumbledore took a special interest in because of his Boy-Who-Lived status- no one has a special interest in Ivy. She's just another victim of the war and was placed under the Ministry's care after the incapacitation of her parents. The Dursley's were asked if they wanted custody of their niece, but they said no and since she wasn't the Girl-Who-Lived, no one pressed the issue.

So yeah, that's about it. I hope you enjoyed reading. I am determined to get the next chapter up soon, so stayed tune.


	4. Chapter 4

Ivy Potter lives in an orphanage- oh wait, sorry a 'children's home'- her parents are vegetables in St. Mungo's and the Girl-Who-Lived is a stuck up, constant pain in her arse. She's a ward of the state, is notorious for her anger 'issues' and might be, just might be a homicidal maniac. Unfortunately for Ivy, dark forces are at play and she can no longer sulk about her miserable existence in the dungeons. AU 4th Year Girl!Harry.

* * *

Granger was acting oddly.

Well, actually let me rephrase that: Granger was acting odder than normal. Hermione Granger, Gryffindor darling and the 'supposed' brightest witch of her age, was always a bit of a Hogwarts oddball- teacher's pet, bucked teeth, wild hair, was seen in the library more than any other part of the castle, prone to break downs when she did not receive perfect marks or was not called on in class and the most damning thing of all, she _willingly_ hung out with Longbottom on a daily basis. However, this was nothing compared to her strange behavior this year.

There were rumors floating around the castle that the 'Golden Trio' was on the fritz. Granger was spending less and less time with Weasley and Longbottom and more time hiding herself away in different parts of the castle. No longer was she seen near them at mealtimes or sitting with them in class. Instead, she sat as far away as possible, her nose buried in a book or an issue of the Daily Prophet. The weird part was that no one had seen them fight (at least, not publically) and when they did interact, they seemed to be civil with one another.

It was a Hogwarts mystery.

However, this was not the end of Hermione Granger's new found strangeness. The Gryffindor girl was also acting weird towards me.

Every time I entered class or the Great Hall or even the library, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I was used to Dumbledork watching me, so at first I thought it was just him being a creep again. But after a while, when it kept persisting, I decided to search for my stalker and low and behold, I discovered it was Granger after I kept meeting her gaze from across the room.

I hadn't confronted her about it… yet, but I was determined to by the end of the week or if I was too swamped with class work, next week at the latest. Fortunately for Miss Granger, I was distracted by other things.

First, the presence of our 'foreign friends' turned out to be more of a hindrance, than a welcome event for me. The wizarding schools of Durmstrang and Beauxbaton had arrived last week and had thrown Hogwarts and me for a tailspin. Students from both foreign schools clogged up the Great Hall at mealtimes to the point that I felt claustrophobic; the Durmstrang students- specifically that vulture/Quidditch celebrity, Viktor Krum- were constantly on the Quidditch Pitch when I wanted to blow off steam; and some Beauxbaton twits had the audacity to steal my favorite table at the library. If it weren't for Snape's threats to my fellow Slytherins and me to 'play nice,' I would have probably started an international incident by cursing them all into next millennium.

The second distraction was the reintroduction to my Occlumency lessons with my Head of House. I had insisted they were useless- I was _way_ too emotional to handle a magical art that required a great amount of personal control- but my vampire… I mean my mentor was persistent that I had to master it.

"I assume you did not practice very often this summer," he had said after our first lesson, his black eyes narrowing in my direction.

I had scowled at him, while rubbing my temple. I had thrown up false memory after false memory- Longbottom calling me her best friend and giving me a hug, losing a Qudditich match against Hufflepuff, Dumbledore awarding _me_ points for saving the school from dark forces- in an attempt to fight off my mentor's Legilimency attack, but Snape had just ripped through my Occlumency shields like a Muggle bulldozer. Now, he had set his sights on ripping my self-esteem apart. Didn't he ever hear the expression 'don't kick a dog while it's already down?'

"I did practice, _professor_," I spat. I was always in an awful mood after someone used Legilimency against me, "but it's hard to find privacy and quiet in a home with thirty five other people."

Snape's upper lip had curled, "If you think your enemies will care whether you are in a room with one person or two hundred, you are in for a rude awakening, Miss Potter."

Whenever we were engaged in my Occlumency lessons, Snape always mentioned these supposed 'enemies' that I had and how they should motivate me to work harder. He never mentioned who they were (he was always annoyingly vague), but persisted these people were lurking around the corner. Of course, I thought he was just being paranoid. After all, to my knowledge, the only people in this world who really had it out for me were Callie Longbottom, the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team and Pansy Parkinson and even I could admit with all my pride that this list was quite laughable in comparison to people such as Dumbledork and the Dark Lord (when he was alive and kicking).

Longbottom's ability to cast curses was mediocre at best, I crushed the Gryffindor Quidditch team on a yearly basis and Pansy Parkinson was so sensitive about her weight that all I had to do was make one 'fat' joke and it was all over. As I said before, it wasn't exactly the most intimidating list of enemies….

Anyway… after Occlumency lessons, I would says that my third and final distraction had to be the presence of the Goblet of Fire.

It had been introduced last week by Dumbledork and company after the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. The Goblet- a pretty old and powerful magical object- was to be the 'impartial judge' that chose which idiots with a death wish would get their chance to compete in the Triwizard Tournament.

Of course, that was the only thing anyone could talk about in the castle. Who would enter their name? Who actually had a chance of being selected? Would a younger student get around Dumbledore's age-line?

Of course, I couldn't give a rat's arse about any of that nonsense but to be honest, I was entertained by those who thought they were actually intelligent enough to fool Dumbledore. The Weasley twins had tried an age potion to get around the line- a semi-decent idea. However, it had left them rejected, white haired and bearded. A few Ravenclaws tried to fly over the age line and were shot like corkscrews right into the ceiling. There were also rumors Longbottom and her goon had used a brand new invisibility cloak she had acquired over the summer to get around the line. They did not get far though. To my delight, they had been catapulted backwards by the headmaster's line, making so much racket that they were given several detentions by Filch for being out of bed after hours and had the cloak confiscated.

Speaking of the Goblet of Fire, tonight-which happened to be Halloween- was the night the three champions were to be selected. We had been instructed to remain in the Great Hall after the feast for the announcement, so I settled in, munching on a pumpkin pastry and waited for my Friday night entertainment.

"The Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledork said, motioning at the magical object, which was now spouting blue and white flames. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber"- he pointed to the door behind him- "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

Excited whispers broke out at the Slytherin table, as the lights in the Great Hall began to dim. Parkinson and Greengrass were chattering about some Diggory bloke, while I overhead Flint bragging to the upper years how he was bound to be selected as the Hogwarts champion based off 'brute strength' and 'superior intelligence.' This had made me snort. Anyone who knew Flint was aware he possessed brain power equivalent to that of the Giant Squid and that was maybe a bit too generous of a comparison.

"Is it over yet?" Davis muttered, while her head rested on the table.

My Slytherin ally had been up late the night before studying for a Divination examination. Just the thought of that woolly branch of magic was enough to make me blanch. You could not get me to touch that codswallop with a ten-foot pole. I was fine in the present, thank you very much.

"Not yet, but it looks like something is happening," I told her as the Goblet of Fire abruptly turned red.

Suddenly, a tongue of flame shot into the air, causing everyone in the room to gasp. A charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it and into Dumbledork's grasp.

"The champion for Durmstrang," his voice echoing through the silent hall, "will be Viktor Krum."

I scowled at the mention of my current, least favorite Durmstrang student. Sure, he was stupendous on a broom- there was certainly no denying that- but I did not think it warranted him and his fan group acting as if they owned the castle. Not only was he irritating on the Pitch, but every time he entered the library, it was a huge nuisance for those who actually wanted to study. His groupies snagged pictures, begged for autographs and hovered around his table like a bunch of flies around a pile of shite. And the worst part was that all this fanfare was over a boy who resembled a giant vulture. I did not see the appeal at all. Did they all want children with big noses and prominent slouches? Was that the rage these days?

After the applause for the bird-man died down, the Goblet spit out another piece of parchment.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"

A beautiful witch with long, silvery blonde hair rose from between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff table. I noticed the boys around us were gaping at the Delacour girl as if she was an oasis in the middle of a desert. It made me want to sneer in disgust.

"This is why females are the superior gender," I told Davis, who was shaking her head at the boys in the room. "Our brains aren't connected to a cock."

After Delacour disappeared into the side chamber behind the staff table, the Goblet turned red again and this time, it showered sparks as another piece of parchment floated out of the flames and into Dumbledork's hand. He read the name and a distinct frown marred his usual jovial face.

"The champion for Hogwarts," he called, "is Ivy Potter."

There was no applause and instead, whispers began to buzz around the Great Hall. People were staring at me, wondering how a fourth year had managed to get her name into the Goblet of Fire. Suddenly, boos broke out from the Gryffindor side of the room and the Slytherin table, despite their general dislike for me, rose to the occasion and began to applaud on my behalf. Even though I was a filthy half-blood, our House was too proud to have one of their own embarrassed in front of the entire school.

"What the actual fuck," I muttered to Davis, who looked at me as if I grew a second head.

"Did you enter?" she whispered back urgently to me.

"Of course I didn't enter, don't be bloody ridiculous," I hissed, panic rising up in me. There was no way I was competing in this death trap, especially when I did not even sign up for it. It would be one thing if I actually put my name in the Goblet, I would deserve what I got, but this was unfair. I did nothing to earn this fate.

"Ivy Potter!" Dumbledore shouted my name again over the applause and boos, but I sat where I was. I refused to be a part of their stupid, death game. I preferred living much better.

"I didn't sign up for this rubbish," I informed the headmaster loudly, drawing gasps from the student body at my audacity to use such disparaging language in front of the staff, headmaster and members of the Ministry of Magic who had come to watch the selection process. "Clearly, there has been a mistake. Pick another name- there are older students who want to compete _much_ more than me- and please just leave me alone. I want nothing to do with this bloody tournament."

A new wave of whispers spread throughout the Great Hall, analyzing what I had just said. Hopefully, I got the students from the other Houses on my side. Those prejudiced duffers definitely did not want an 'evil' Slytherin champion to represent Hogwarts. Plus, I was offering another chance, a re-do of the sorts to those who actually put their names in the Goblet. It was a win-win for everyone.

"I'm afraid that this is impossible, Miss Potter," an elderly man with a curt voice told me. He wore a crisp, black robe and had perfectly cut grey hair and a toothbrush mustache. I recognized him as one of the Ministry goons, Barty Crouch. He was in the Daily Prophet often, since he held the head position of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He had planned the disastrous Quidditch World Cup in August and this monstrosity during the school year. I already knew I did not like him- too straight edged. "You must compete in the Triwizard Tournament or face dire consequences."

Dire consequences? Well, shite.

More boos filled the Great Hall and I could not help, but smirk. At least, I had gotten Hogwarts on my side. I was concerned- besides about the whole potential dying thing- that I would be the outcast of the school for this blunder, but it seemed the other students did not want me competing as much as I did. Of course, I should probably be insulted they despised me and the Slytherin House to this extent, but I cared too much about saving my own skin to give a damn… I had my priorities.

Dumbledork was probably displeased I managed to garner this much support from the student body because he yelled again, "Miss Potter!"

I sighed and stood up. I would play along in their little dog and pony show for now but after getting my instructions about the First Task, I would be heading straight to the library. I was curious to see if these 'dire consequences' Mr. Crouch mentioned were all that dire or if it was a bunch of Ministry hyped-up hogwash.

I got a smattering of applause throughout the room as I made my way towards the staff table. Even the Gryffindors, with all their outward hatred of my House, had a few people clapping on my behalf. I passed by Dumbledore, who was still frowning, but I paid him no heed. The only person I cared about at the staff table was Snape.

My mentor was scowling deeply- no surprise there, since that was his usual facial expression- but what was not normal was that his obsidian eyes were crackling with fury. He did not look at me while I passed, but instead focused the heat of his gaze at Dumbledore's back. Usually, Snape was civil with the headmaster but I guessed in this situation, he was miffed Dumbledork had not argued with Crouch on my behalf. The oaf had just stood there while some Ministry goon forced one of his underaged students to compete in this death match. It was quite ridiculous, even in Dumbledork terms.

Soon after, I passed through the door behind the teachers' table and found myself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards who were all staring at me unabashedly. They were probably expecting someone much taller and older to be entering the room instead of a 5'3, fourteen year old. I glared at them in response, which made most turn away besides a few of the haughtier women in the portraits, who sneered in response- they were probably past Slytherins. Across the room from the portraits, flames were burning in the fireplace. Next to it stood the other two champions, Viktor Krum and the hot French girl- Fleur Delacour. They were gathered around the fire and staring broodingly into it.

Fun crowd.

"What is it?" the Beauxbatons champion said in her thick French accent, when she finally noticed my approach. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

I scoffed. I wished I was just Dumbledore's messenger girl, "I'm the Hogwarts champion," I informed the girl, who frowned. Krum, who did not bother looking up at me while I approached, now straightened up and surveyed me through dark eyes. I stared right back at him. The vulture would not intimidate me.

"Vairy funny, little girl," the blonde said, though she was not smiling. "Now, what is ze message?"

"I'm serious," I growled, offended that she had just called me a 'little girl.' If I ended up being forced to compete in this shite, I would show that blonde twit who was really the 'little' one by the time this tournament was over. "I- am- the- Hogwarts- champion… Do you understand what I am saying? Or should I repeat myself for the third time?"

Before the French girl could reply to my- admittedly- rude questions, I heard the door open again and turned around. Someone was coming down the hallway. When they stepped into the light of the fireplace, I saw that it was Longbottom, her heart shaped face was pale, but she had a confident smile on her face as she approached us.

"Potter," she spat.

"Longbottom," I returned, not bothering to hide my sneer. "What are you doing here?"

However, _again _we were interrupted. This time before my adversary could reply, a big man with blonde hair and rosy cheeks had entered the room. He had a wide grin on his face and as soon as he spotted the Girl-Who-Accidentally-Lived, he began to beam down at her as if she was God's gift to Earth. I already knew I was going to despise this man.

"Extraordinary," he muttered, squeezing Longbottom's arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Ladies… gentleman," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the three of us. "May I introduce- incredible though it may seem- the _fourth_ Triwizard champion!"

"You're JOKING!" I yelled, my voice coming out a lot louder than I intended it to.

I glared at Longbottom, who looked very smug at the attention she was receiving from this buffoon. It was bad enough that I had to participate in this shite against my will, but now my arch-nemesis was going to be my competition? If there was a God, he was sure to be laughing at me right now.

"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Callidora's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"

Fleur frowned again and I continued to glare, while Krum's caterpillar eyebrows rose slightly. It was the first display of emotion besides the constant state of surliness that I had seen the Durmstrang student exhibit since he arrived at Hogwarts.

"But evidently 'zair 'as been a mistake," the French witch said contemptuously to the blonde haired Wizard. "Ze little girls cannot compete. Zey is too young."

I nodded along with the girl, though I was holding back a wave of anger at the second 'little girl comment… when I was done with this bitch….

"Delacour's right," I said. "Your Goblet is clearly broken. There shouldn't be one underage witch competing in this competition, let alone two."

"Well… it is amazing," said the wizard, running his chin and smiling down at Longbottom. "But, as you know the age restriction was only imposed as an extra safety measure. And since both Miss Longbottom's and Miss Potter's names came out of the Goblet, there is little we can do after that… They both can't duck out. It's in the rules…. They'll just have to do your best—"

The wizard was cut off by the entrance of a large group of people: Dumbledork, the Ministry prat from before, the heads of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, McGonagal and Snape. Smiles were noticeably absent from all their faces and I felt my toes curl in my trainers. Longbottom and I were in for a lecture.

However, instead of attacking both of us, the other two heads first went after Dumbledork. It was wonderful seeing our 'perfect' headmaster taken down a peg or two by the foreign wizard and witch. If I wasn't so bloody pissed off for having my name come out of the Goblet, I would have been smiling. Unfortunately, the bickering amongst the adults did not last long because the attention was soon turned back to Longbottom and me.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Miss Potter?" Dumbledore asked, x-raying me with those creepy blue eyes of his.

"Don't be ridiculous," I told my headmaster and heard the portrait rattling behind me. My anger was growing from the repeat accusation. "I already told you in the Great Hall- I want _nothing_ to do with this death trap. I don't want to be a competitor. I don't want to be a spectator. I don't even want to follow it in the papers. All I want is to have _one_ school year_, _just one, that does not involve me having my life threatened at Hogwarts."

"Miss Potter-" my headmaster tried to cut in, but I kept going.

"I don't know why that's such a difficult concept at this school. Maybe if I want to be educated in peace, I should just transfer to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang." I turned to Krum and Delacour, "Could you tell me what's the Basilisk situation over at your schools? Do you have any mass murderers roaming the halls? Oh wait, here's a good one- what about Dark Lords? Or demento-"

"_Miss Potter_," Dumbledore interrupted me a second time, now looking annoyed, "I think that is quite enough. You have already answered my question adequately."

I rolled my eyes, "I just wanted to get the message to stick, _professor_. It seems everything a Slytherin says is taken with a grain of salt at this school. I don't want _anyone _doubting my truthfulness in this situation."

There was a bit of awkward silence in the room. I don't think Dumbledore and McGonagall appreciated me revealing our school's biases in front of our foreign visitors. To rectify the situation, the headmaster decided to turn the attention away from me and onto his golden girl, "Callie, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"No, sir," Longbottom replied, the embodiment of the model student- no back talk, no long disrespectful rants, no revealing embarrassing school secrets. Merlin, I hated her.

I scoffed and found that I was joined by Professor Snape. Anyone with half a brain knew Longbottom wanted to be in this tournament just as much as any upper year. She just got caught the other night trying to put her name in the Goblet for Merlin's sake! I did not know how much more evidence Dumbledork needed to punish Longbottom for being an attention seeking brat.

"Did you ask an older student to put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" the headmaster asked his golden child.

I almost started spluttering at the question. That was the grand solution to the 'invincible' age line? All an underaged student had to do was get an older one to do their bidding? Now that it was revealed, I could not believe how truly easy it would have been for everyone at Hogwarts to skirt around the age restriction. It was no matter why this school had so many issues. It was run by a complete moron.

"No, sir," Callie insisted. "I swear it."

Her tone was strangely vehement and I wondered if it was because Longbottom was an excellent liar or that she had truly not managed not to submit her name. I looked closer at the Girl-Who-Loved-The-Spotlight and noticed she was still pale and her body seemed oddly tense. Longbottom usually basked in attention. It was her lifeblood. The Gryffindor never, ever shied away from it. Did she finally realize the mess she had gotten herself into? Or had Longbottom really not entered the tournament?

There was more arguing, which at this point was more annoying than entertaining. I decided to check my watch to see how much time had passed and saw that it was 9:26, making me frown. I was anxious to get down to the library before it closed for the night. I had research on the tournament to do. There had to be a loophole in that rule book somewhere…

"I have a half a mind to leave now!" Someone had bellowed, snapping me back to attention.

The shouter turned out Durmstrang's headmater- Carrot-something- and he looked pissed off. Across from him was Professor Moody- when had he limped onto the scene?- who was glaring right back at the foreign wizard.

"Empty threat, Igor Karkaroff," he growled. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said." A binding magical contract? Damnit, I really need to stop zoning out. "Convenient, eh?"

"Convenient?" Igor 'not a carrot' Karkaroff repeated. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."

Durmstrang's headmaster tried to act all high and mighty, as if Moody was barely above his notice, just an annoying fly he wanted to swat, but his hands gave him away. They were balled into fists and trembling slightly.

Wimp.

"Don't play dumb, Karkaroff," Moody continued. "We both know someone put Longbottom's name in that goblet knowing she'd have to compete if it came out."

Uh oh, I knew where this was going. Moody was uncovering _another_ half-brained Girl-Who-Lived assassination plot.

Last year, Sirius Black had broken out of Azkaban to finish Longbottom off for his dead master. Two years ago, a giant basilisk almost devoured my nemesis whole. And finally, three years ago, it was rumored our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell, had tried to off the Gryffindor at the end of the school year.

Of course, those two idiots and the snake could not get their act together and all three of these 'plots' had ended with Callie being hailed as the hero and Dumbledork kissing her arse more than usual. What usually followed after that was a disgraceful display of favoritism at the final feast with Slytherin's hard work all year flushed down the toilet in order for Dumbledore's precious Gryffindors to get their moment in the sun.

Since this has occurred three years in a row, I think a lot of my House mates would agree with me that we just wanted people to stop trying to kill Callie Longbottom- at least for one year- so we could finally get the House Cup we _rightly_ deserved.

But I digress… Karkaroff was ranting again and I was probably missing some riveting stuff.

"-I shall be lodging a complaint with Ministry of Magic _and_ the International Confederation of Wizards-"

Or not… Karkaroff was still as boring as a tube of bulboter puss.

"The only one who should be complaining is Longbottom," Moody growled, ignoring my look of indignation. Typical… "She has to compete in tasks beyond her magical skill level. She could die in this tournament."

I glanced over at the Girl-Who-Could-Do-No-Wrong and noticed she was paler than before. I guessed Moody's words were frightening her and I did not blame her. At least I was talented for my year in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It could give me a bit (and that was a generous assessment) of a survival advantage over my fellow fourth year. But what did Longbottom excel in? Herbology? That was laughable in comparison. She was doomed.

After a tense silence, Moody went onto explain his theory about how Longbottom's name had been entered in the Goblet of Fire. This was all well and good, but he didn't provide any answers for me. How did a piece of parchment with my name fall into the cup in the first place? Was it an awful prank? Or was something more sinister going on?

There was more arguing. It got to its worst when Moody clearly insinuated to the room that Karkaroff had been a dark wizard at some point- when the Durmstrang headmaster turned red with guilt, I filed this away for later- and then, Dumbledore finally stepped in, returning order.

"Would you like to give our champions their instructions, Barty?" he asked the mustached man, who was observing the arguments in the corner. I looked closely at the ministry official. At the feast, he seemed normal but now, he appeared to be paler than Longbottom.

It must have been that weird French pudding…

"Yes… yes the instructions," he muttered and motioned for the four champions to surround him. I stood as far away as possible just in case he was going to vomit all over us. "The first task is designed to test your daring, so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard… very important."

I gagged; that all sounded disgustingly Gryffindor to me.

"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges," I got an audience when I died? How delightful. "The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks. The champions will only be armed with their wands. After they complete the first task," I snorted at the probability of _that_ occurring, but was ignored, "they will receive information about the second task. Since this tournament is time-consuming and demanding, champions will be exempt from end-of-the-year tests."

I perked up at that. Finally, there was a benefit to participating in this death trap. Maybe things were turning around for old Ivy Potter… oh wait, I nearly forgot I still had to bloody _survive_ to see the end-of-the-year tests being administered. Bullocks.

Shortly after the instructions were done being given out, we were dismissed by Dumbledore. Professor Snape accompanied me out of the room and towards the dungeons. Once we were out of earshot of the other champions, I asked him, knowing now it was too late for a trip to the library, "So, is there any way out of this tournament? Dragon pox? A disability? Anything?"

My mentor shook his head, "Unfortunately, you have just entered a _binding _magical contract with the Goblet of Fire, Miss Potter," he told me, sounding frustrated. "This means if you do not compete, your magic will be stripped away from you, leaving you a Squib."

I could not help but shudder as I thought of the only Squib I knew- Argus Filch. As a result of his non-magical state, the Hogwarts caretaker had an inferior-complex the size of Great Britain. He was constantly trying to get the best of the students at Hogwarts most likely because he was jealous we were able to perform magic, while he was not. There was no way in hell I was turning into him. I knew I would rather throw myself off the Astronomy Tower than spend the rest of my days mopping the castle and cuddling a creepy cat.

"I might die, though," I muttered.

"Yes, that is a possibility," Snape admitted.

"Thanks, you're _really_ comforting."

"If you would prefer me to lie to you, Miss Potter, I am more than capable of doing that too," Snape informed me coldly.

I shook my head, "Since you're the only one around here who cares if I live or die during this bloody tournament, I prefer you don't."

"Good-" Snape began, but was interrupted by the presence of a new comer.

Granger entered the hallway, slumped over slightly towards her right side to compensate for her bulging messenger bag on her shoulder. In her hands was a small mountain of books that nearly obscured her vision. The titles of the books ranged from 'Modern Wizarding British Law' to 'Magical Traditions Through the Ages.' I assumed she had just been chased out of the library by Madam Prince before lights out and was now making her long trek back to the Gryffindor Common Room. The bushy haired girl was not looking up from the books in front of her face, muttering nonsense under her breath- probably reciting something nerdy like the library catalogue- and failed to notice Snape or me until we were three feet away from her.

"Oh," she breathed, her brown eyes widening. The girl clearly had thought she was alone. When the Gryffindor noticed that my own green eyes were focused on her so intently- I had not forgotten about her odd behavior lately- her face started to redden. She probably felt guilty about stalking me the last few weeks.

"Granger," I greeted shortly. I would keep this short and to the point. "Meet me at the back table in the library at nine o'clock sharp tomorrow. Do not be late. We have much to discuss."

"What-" she began, but my stony gaze and Snape's presence must have made her think twice before starting an argument since she quickly muttered, "Fine, I'll see you then, Ivy."

The Gryffindor girl said goodnight to the Potions Master- who coldly ignored her, which was typical behavior from my favorite vampire-professor- and then, scurried down the hallway, not even bothering to look back. Once she was out of sight, Snape turned to me, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Should I be concerned?" my mentor asked me. He was well aware Hermione Granger and I never interacted on amiable terms since our First Year at Hogwarts. For me to willing put myself in the muggle-born's presence meant something out of the ordinary was occurring.

I waved him off, "Don't worry, I won't curse her. We just have a few things to discuss."

"If you say so," he said as we descended the stairs into the dungeons. Snape must have decided Hermione Granger was not important enough to discuss because he turned back to the Triwizard Tournament drama. "What did you notice in that room?"

I knew he was testing me about what I had observed during the Moody-Karkaroff-Dumbledore-Beauxbatons giant-lady argument. From the moment I met him four years ago, Snape had stressed to me the 'power of observation.' He frequently insisted, 'The power of observation can be just as valuable as your wand,' and when I did fail to pick important points up during social situations, I could guarantee myself a detention the next day. Tonight, I was determined not to land myself in a situation where I would be washing toad guts out of my hair the next day.

"Karkaroff was definitely a dark wizard at some point. It wasn't hard to see that he was terrified of Moody," I said, remembering the headmaster's bright red face and shaking hands.

"Yes, Karkaroff was one of the Dark Lord's followers, during the war," Snape told me, nodding in approval. "Moody caught him, which was why he was so on edge. What else?"

My adversary's pale face and tense body filled my vision.

"Longbottom was frightened," I said. "She tried to act confident, but I saw right through her…. I'm not sure she entered the tournament…"

Snape nodded again, "I suspected the same," he told me. "Anything else?"

I continued, "Moody didn't seem to give two shites how my name turned up in the Goblet. That entire time, all of his attention was focused on Longbottom… I thought that was strange."

"What do you deduce about that, Miss Potter?"

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, "Um… maybe Dumbledore brought him onto staff to protect Longbottom. It would explain his overt interest in her."

"A possibility…." Snape murmured and looked up. We were now standing in front of the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.

"Where do I go from here?" I asked my mentor, covering up a yawn. It had been a long night.

"Research," Snape advised simply. "There must be a pattern with the First Tasks throughout the centuries. Find it and we'll go from there."

"We?" I echoed, raising my eyebrows slightly. "Crouch said I can't accept help from teachers."

My professor scoffed, "Ignorance does not suit you, Miss Potter. Do you really believe there has never been cheating involved in this tournament?" I opened my mouth to argue, but Snape plowed on, "When the three biggest wizarding schools in the world come together, they'll resort to any means to topple one another… Of course, Professor Dumbledore is too _honorable_," he sneered at the word, "to use such tactics, but do not underestimate Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. It would not astonish me if they were already starting to form strategies tonight."

Tonight? Jeez, and I thought they would at least celebrate a little….

"Well, the only strategy I need is a survival strategy," I told Professor Snape firmly. "I couldn't care less about winning…. In fact, they can keep their one thousand galleons, if I get to keep my life."

Snape nodded.

"For once, Miss Potter, I have to say that I agree with you wholeheartedly," my mentor told me, a grim look of determination etched onto his sallow face. "Getting you through this tournament alive will be my number one priority this year."

I felt my face warm at the sentiment. It was not often when an adult cared enough to make me a priority, let alone their biggest one. Sure, I was important to adults like the head of the orphanage- a legal obligation-, Dr. Thomas- because he cared about getting paid by the state- and my Ministry sponsor, Ted Tonks- again another legal obligation. But, I was never the most important person in their lives. Those three adults had families to care for, money to make and jail time to avoid. In the end, I meant nothing to them beyond their obligations to society.

"Thanks," I muttered, confused about the rush of emotion that was still filling my chest.

Snape cleared his throat awkwardly. He was never the best with emotional situations.

"My second priority is finding out _who_ put your name in the Goblet of Fire," he told me. "Whoever it was clearly had no well wishes for you."

"So, you don't think it was a prank?" I asked.

Snape pursed his lips, "That would make everything a lot more simple but unfortunately, I don't think the Goblet of Fire would have picked you if your name had been mixed in normally with the other Hogwarts students… You are decently talented in some areas- I will admit that- but let's not delude ourselves into believing you would out perform a 6th or 7th year. Your magic is not even _close_ to being on par with them at this point in your education…

No… whoever did this was aware you would not be selected as Hogwarts champion without some _convincing_. They were probably a very powerful witch or wizard to hoodwink the Goblet of Fire into choosing you."

"That eliminates a lot of people in this castle," I muttered. "Most of the student body would be out, right?" Snape nodded. "So, that only leaves the professors, the Ministry goons who have been wandering out the castle lately and our foreign guests."

"Trust no one," Snape advised me sternly. "If you must speak with an adult alone make sure Miss Davis or another student is informed. Do not wander the castle grounds at night. Do not take unnecessary risk. Do not do anything to put your life in jeopardy until I figure out who wants you dead."

"Dead?" I repeated, shocked that anyone cared enough to try to eliminate me from this Earth. "Someone wants me dead? What have I ever done to deserve that? I'm not the bloody Girl-Who-Lived."

Professor Snape scoffed, "I thought that fact would have been obvious, Miss Potter. Why else would they enter you in a tournament with such a high death toll?"

"I… I just didn't think I was important enough to be a part of an assassination plot," I told him, my mind whirling. "I'm Ivy Potter. I didn't defeat any dark lords. I don't stick my nose in anyone's business. I'm a nobody!"

"Clearly you are not a nobody to somebody," Snape said, sneering at the idea. "That's why I implore to you that you must be vigilant at all times and if you think you are in trouble, come to _me_ first, no one else."

I nodded, though my thoughts were still scattered. It was a lot to take in.

"Now, go back inside your Common Room and get a good rest. You'll need a lot of energy to get through the next three weeks."

Three weeks? That's all I had until the First Task? Merlin, I was screwed.

"Okay, sir," I told him, wringing my hands traitorously behind my back, but hoping that I hid the panic from my voice sufficiently. "Thanks again."

Snape shook his head, "Don't bother to thank me until you live to see the end of this school year, Miss Potter."

After my mentor left, I had a night that was one of the oddest I had ever had in the presence of the other Slytherins. People who normally turned their nose up at the 'filthy half-blood' congratulated me, wanted to talk to me and even shook my hand. These people offered to serve as my tutor for the tournament, wanted to introduce me to their family's business associates and one particularly off-beat first year even asked for my autograph.

The sudden shift in behavior from my fellow snakes was overwhelming. Now, don't get me wrong, it was better than getting cursed in the Common Room and called every swear word in the book. But after three full years of being treated like scum, I could not wrap my mind around the idea of being treated as an equal amongst the Slytherins.

Unfortunately, neither could my ally, Tracey Davis.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself down there," she muttered after I finally managed to escape the crowd to take refuge in my dormitory.

The brunette, who left after the Slytherins began swarming, was scowling at me from her four-poster bed and could not even look me in the eye, instead settling for the wall to my right. She glared at the space as if she wanted to set it on fire.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked her, my eyes narrowing. I expected her to be pleased our status in the House had taken a sharp turn upward, not miserable and angry.

"Admit it Potter, you were happy to receive all their attention," Davis spat. "You looked like bloody Longbottom down there with all your fan-girls."

My eyes widened. Her words stung and I felt as if they were imprinted across my face like a slap. Sure, Davis and I got into quarrels every now and then, but never with words that cut this deep. Even at my angriest, I would _never, ever_ compare her to Callidora Longbottom. It was equivalent to blasphemy between the two of us. Hating Longbottom was one of the cornerstones to our alliance. If Davis considered me as low as her, how could we possibly continue to work together?

The worst part about the entire thing was that after my name came out of the Goblet of Fire, Davis was only person at Hogwarts I could count on to treating me normally during this tournament. Now, my ally was treating me as if I was the reincarnate of Morgan le Fay herself.

"Ohhh… I'm terribly sorry that I wanted to enjoy the one moment when my House mates didn't want to tear out my guts for existing," I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Next time I receive positive attention, I'll check in to see if it's alright with you first. I wouldn't want you turning into a raging, jealous bitch again."

"I'm not jealous!" Davis shouted.

"You sure are acting like it!" I snapped back, feeling my temper rise. "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I don't know I was surrounded by arse kissers downstairs who are faker than Filch's magical talent?" The mirror in the corner began to rattle. "Don't take me for a fool, Davis. I'm a Slytherin for a reason. I can see right through people, just like you can… And, you wanna' know what? Right now, all I see in front of me is an immature twit, who is jealous that her friend's in the spotlight for once, while she's on the sidelines." The mirror was now fracturing down the center. "You're acting bloody pathetic!"

CRACK!

The mirror shattered into thousands of shards of glass, covering the floor and creating a hazardous obstacle on the path to our dormitory's loo. Knowing that Parkinson would throw a fit when she entered the room if the glass was still there, I snatched my wand off my bedside table and with more vicious force than necessary, cast a 'Reparo' to fix the damages.

Once I had finished, I turned back to Davis's four-poster- ready to continue my argument- and saw that her curtains had already been drawn. I rolled my eyes. If she wanted to act like a baby, I would let her. I had no time to deal with her drama. I had a tournament to survive.

But, as I drew my curtains to go to bed, I knew I would not be able to get the amount of rest Snape wanted me to. I could only think of the person lying in the bed next to mine and knew from the lack of her usual soft snores, Tracey was probably doing the same exact thing.

This sucked.

* * *

Thanks for the feedback to those who reviewed. I appreciate any advice I can get to make this story better. The plot for this story has been set in motion, so we'll see where it goes from here. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Ivy Potter lives in an orphanage- oh wait, sorry a 'children's home'- her parents are vegetables in St. Mungo's and the Girl-Who-Lived is a stuck up, constant pain in her arse. She's a ward of the state, is notorious for her anger 'issues' and might be, just might be a homicidal maniac. Unfortunately for Ivy, dark forces are at play and she can no longer sulk about her miserable existence in the dungeons. AU 4th Year Girl!Harry.

* * *

What happened last night?

It was the age old question for binge drinkers. Alcohol would impair their judgment, impair their memory and leave them with a raging headache and intense nausea the next morning. As tempting as it would be to forget for a short while that I had mentally incapacitated parents, no friends and a mass murder I wanted to obliterate, I knew alcohol would not fix anything. All of my problems would be still there in the morning, plus I would be adding on a splitting headache and vomit… so I'll pass on that, thanks.

I woke up on November 1st, 1994 similar to a person who had too much to drink the night before, blurry eyed and disoriented. I turned over on my stomach and glanced at the bed next to mine. It was empty. Davis, a notorious over-sleeper, had already slipped out of the dormitory. That was odd. Maybe she wanted to get a jump start on homework?

I stretched, yawning loudly. I guess I should get going so I could follow her to the library…

"Oh shite…." I muttered and instantly sat straight up in my bed.

I had nearly forgotten Davis and I were currently not on speaking terms. We had rowed last night. I had shattered a mirror and called her bloody pathetic. And it was all over that stupid tournament…

Unlike the last three years when I could hide in the dungeons from all the deadly 'problems' at the school, I was now smack in the middle of them thanks to my new role in the Triwizard Tournament. I was no longer the 'filthy half-blood' or that 'mental Slytherin chick.' I had a real name. I was Ivy Dorea Potter, Hogwarts Champion. Since my name came out of that bloody Goblet, I was expected to get through tasks designed for wizards and witches with advanced magical talent and not lose my life in the process. It would be difficult, even impossible…

At the thought of my impending doom, a wave of nausea suddenly hit me and I sprinted for the loo, threw open the nearest stall and began vomiting up any remnants of the previous night's feast. For five minutes straight, my stomach heaved and heaved until all I could get up was stomach bile.

"Ivy?"

Someone had rapped on the stall door. I swore under my breath. I had probably woken up the rest of my dorm-mates running to the loo.

I cleared my throat, wincing from the acidic taste in my mouth.

"Yes?" I managed to reply, my head still over the toilet.

"Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey?" the person replied. From the higher pitch and the lack of a nasty tone, I knew it was Daphne Greengrass. The blonde was a part of Parkinson's posse but because of her non-confrontational nature, she had never insulted me (at least not to my face). That alone was good enough for me not to have qualms about the girl.

"No," I grunted, imagining the gossip that would go around if someone knew I was already vomiting out of anxiety. I would be a joke before the tournament even began. "I'm fine, Daphne. I think that French pudding at the Halloween Feast didn't settle well."

There was a short pause. I hoped she would not call me out for my lie, "Oh… well, if you say so Ivy. I'll be outside the door, if you need anything."

"Thanks," I muttered and soon, I heard the loo door close. I was alone again.

I rested my head against the cool porcelain, glad that the castle was given such a thorough cleaning job each night. I sighed, waiting for my churning stomach to calm enough for me to be able to move. I had to meet with Granger in a half hour and did not want to look foolish by blowing her off. After all, I was the one who had threatened her to show up on time.

I took two deep breaths and gripped the sides of the toilet bowel, trying to find my resolve. I knew I could not spend my day hiding in here like a coward. I was no Gryffindor, but I still had my parents' blood in my veins. I would fight through this.

Finally, my stomach settled and I was able to rise off the tile and unlock the stall door. I shuffled over to the bathroom sink and splashed water on my face, trying to get the vomit off the corners of my mouth. After I towel dried my face, I grabbed my toothbrush and cleaned my mouth vigorously to get rid of the built up acid.

"Feeling better?"

Daphne Greengrass had reentered the loo with her bathrobe on and a towel hanging off her arm. Her blue gaze was piercing and reminded me a bit of Dumbledore, making my stomach tighten uncomfortably.

"Loads," I mumbled awkwardly, not used to interactions with the blonde that did not involve her playing second fiddle to Parkinson. Two in one day was over my limit.

I started to walk passed Daphne. I did not want to stick around further to continue our uncomfortable conversation, plus I needed to make myself presentable to Granger before our randevu in the library. Unfortunately, the blonde spoke again.

"I would be frightened too," she told me.

I turned around, "Excuse me?"

"Of the tournament," Daphne clarified. "I would be petrified of the Tasks… You probably wouldn't be able to get me to come out of my bed to go to them."

"I'm not scared," I told the witch stubbornly, though my voice came out shakier than I would have preferred.

The blonde's gaze never left my face and I knew she could see right through me. I felt the blood rush into my cheeks and bit my lip in frustration, upset that my body had betrayed me.

"I'm really not," I said more firmly this time.

Daphne nodded, but I knew she did not believe me. She was too clever to be fooled by a terrible liar like me, "Good… I'll be rooting for you, Ivy."

"Thanks," I muttered and then quickly exited the loo without looking back.

Parkinson and Bullstrode glared at me as I passed through the room, but did not make any snarky comments towards me which I was grateful for. I had no time to argue with those two Neanderthals. If I did not leave the Slytherin Common Room within the next five minutes, I was going to be late for Granger.

After throwing on a navy blue jumper and corduroys, I dashed out of my dormitory and through the Slytherin Common Room, which was predictably empty at this time in the morning. We snakes were not known to be early risers. After exiting the dungeons, the walk to the library was short and I was glad to see besides a few ambitious Ravenclaw 7th years and a Hufflepuff or two, it was almost completely vacant- less witnesses for my conversation with the Gryffindor.

Unfortunately, Granger was already at the back table waiting for me with her nose buried in a book (How was that girl not a Ravenclaw?). Her hair was bushier than normal today, wild brown curls popping out from behind the headband she was using to restrain her bird's nest. When she noticed my presence, the muggleborn looked down at her watch and raised her eyebrows at me.

"You're late," she accused as I sat down across from her.

"Only by thirty seconds," I grumbled after glancing down at my own watch.

"Says the person who threatened me based on my punctuality," the Gryffindor fired back.

I rolled my eyes at her, "I'm not here to argue over time, Granger."

"Then what do you want, Potter?"

I crossed my arms over my chest stubbornly, "Don't play dumb, especially since you of all people could never play it off… You know very well why I requested your presence."

The brown haired girl's gaze lowered for a fraction of a second and I knew I had her.

"Why have you been stalking me?" I asked.

"I have not-"

"Please don't argue. It will be quicker if you don't," I cut in, which earned me a glare from the Gryffindor. "Here's the deal Granger… Every time I've seen you in the last few weeks, your eyes have been on me- in class, in the Great Hall and sometimes even in the hallways. And unless you've started batting for the other team- which I guess would make your stalking strangely flattering- you have been watching me for a particular reason. So what is it, Granger? Has Longbottom put you up to this?"

The Gryffindor turned red at the insinuation, "You're absolutely absurd."

I smirked, "So, I've been told."

Granger let out a deep breath through her nostrils and bit down on her bottom lip. It was not customary for the muggleborn to be this nervous. Whenever I interacted with her in class, she was always confident and collected. Surrounded by books and knowledge, she was in her domain, at her safest. Her behavior now puzzled me but I guessed even though we were in the library, there was nothing in a book that would instruct the Gryffindor on how to evade me. It was probably why her brown eyes were darting around like a trapped animal, seeking an exit.

"There is something you need to know," Granger told me slowly, as if she was fighting against a force inside of her.

"And? What is it?" I pressed.

"I can't tell you."

I gaped at her, "Seriously? And I'm the absurd one?"

The muggleborn pulled at the end of her hair and bit down on her lip even harder than before. She looked extremely conflicted.

"It's not that I don't want to," she told me. "I… I… I've been sworn to secrecy. It's a magical oath and if I break it…"

"Oh, trust me, Granger," I muttered. "I know _all_ about the consequences of breaking magical oaths…" I frowned, remembering the magical oath I unwillingly took with the Goblet of Fire last night. "Who did you make it with?"

The Gryffindor girl sighed, "I can't tell you that either."

I bit my lip in frustration, "So, you're telling me that you've been staring at me the last few weeks because you took a magical oath with a mystery person about something that regards me?"

The muggleborn nodded and to my horror, her eyes began to water, "Ever since I saw you on the train I've felt so guilty, Ivy… I've really, really wanted to tell you… It's not right you're being kept this information. But, we made that oath and-"

"We?" I repeated.

"Ron, Callie and I all made it in June."

I felt my temper begin to rise. My enemy and her goon knew something important about me that I was not even aware of? And they had interacted with me for the last two months as if nothing was different between us? Oh, when I saw Longbottom…

Granger must have noticed my darkening face because she quickly cut in, "We've all been sworn to secrecy, Ivy. Ron and Callie couldn't tell you what happened even if they wanted to."

"That's the point, Granger. They didn't want to," I growled. "They didn't have the bollocks to feel ashamed like you…" I shook my head and glared at a few nosey Hufflepuff 1st years who were staring at us. They quickly turned around in their seats, "And all this time I thought the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it didn't put you in Ravenclaw. You really are a Gryffindor through and through."

The muggleborn blushed from the praise, "Thank you… I just wish I could give you a push in the right direction."

She looked upset again and I frowned. I was still taken aback that one of my enemy's best mates was this torn up about me. After all the vicious arguments Callie and I had gotten into over the years, it seemed unnatural to have a civil conversation with someone so close to her.

I looked around at all the books that surrounded us, "Maybe you could. We'd just have to do some research into magical oaths," I sighed, remembering the looming tournament. "Unfortunately, we would have to wait until the First Task is done... I can't afford any distractions until it's over."

"I understand," Granger told me, nodding. "You must be under a lot of pressure…"

"Loads," I agreed. "It would be one thing if I actually put my name in that bloody Goblet- I would deserve what I got- but this… this is my nightmare."

"I knew you didn't do it," the muggleborn muttered.

"Excuse me?"

Granger bit her lip, "They've been talking in the Gryffindor House, Ivy…"

"Let them," I growled.

"Some- not everybody-" she added when my face began turning red, "they've been saying your speech in the Great Hall was a bunch of hogwash to make you look more sympathetic… They're saying you entered the tournament on purpose."

My nails dug into the wooden table and I heard a rattling sound behind me. Books were shaking on the shelves behind me. I was losing my temper again…

"I know you didn't do it, Ivy," the Gryffindor quickly interjected, looking frightened at my emotional display. "You've never been an attention seeker, since I met you…" The shelves continued to shake, "Well, at least not on purpose. I don't think your anger is something you can control, is it?"

I was _very_ close to telling Granger to fuck off. I despised personal questions, especially from people who barely knew me. Strangers and acquaintances were always quick to judge, looking for a weakness, something to unravel me. And the girl across from me was definitely an acquaintance. I would even put her in the borderline enemy category, if I wanted to be technical about it.

The only reason why I hadn't pulled my wand on the witch was because she had met with me for an honorable reason this morning. Granger's desire to tell me the truth, despite the magical constraints placed upon her, was admittedly admirable and I could not help but reevaluate the character of the girl. Had I been wrong about the Gryffindor?

"No…" I muttered. "Ever since I was a little girl, the only emotion I've been really able to display is anger. I… I have tried to reel it in, but it hasn't worked."

I ended my confession glaring at the table in front of me, refusing to meet the gaze of the muggleborn across from me. I could not believe I admitted something so _personal_ to Granger. I barely knew her besides classes and when I got tied up with her best mate. Speaking of…

"If you tell Longbottom about any of this, you'll wish you never left the Muggle world," I snarled. "I know a lot more curses than the average fourth year and I'm not afraid to drive you out of this bloody castle with them."

Granger blinked. I don't think she was expecting my outburst.

"I won't tell, Ivy," she promised me. "I swear! I have no reason to anyway-"

The Gryffindor stopped short, realizing she had revealed too much about her current situation with Longbottom and Weasley. Of course, Granger must have been aware the entire school knew she was not on speaking terms with the other two. If she was not, the muggleborn was a lot more oblivious than I thought.

I did not want to antagonize her, so I said neutrally, "Good, I would hate to give Dumbledore a justifiable reason to expel me. He's been grasping for them as it is without me giving him any help."

The Gryffindor's gaze lowered for a fraction of a second- Was it out of relief or something else?- before flashing me a small smile. She must have thought I was telling a joke about the headmaster. Unfortunately, I was dead serious.

"Now… if you excuse me, I need to start researching this bloody tournament so you don't have to attend my funeral in three weeks," I told Granger, pushing back my chair. "Thanks again for…" What did the muggleborn tell me? That someone went through the trouble to make a magical oath to keep me in the dark? That I had a mysterious figure pulling the strings behind the scenes? "… letting me know about the oath. I really appreciate it."

I was getting up, when Granger called, "Wait, Ivy," I paused and looked down at the witch. "I can help you research the tournament, if you want."

I gaped at the Gryffindor, thrown off by her offer. It was odd enough that she had come forward with the information about the magical oath, but now this? What was she playing at?

"Why would you want to help me?" I asked. "Why not Longbottom?"

Granger's cheeks reddened, "I… I just know Callie will have tons of people who will want to help her out. She has her grandmother and Professor Dumbledore and I'm sure Professor Moody would too. He's had a special interest in Callie ever since he's gotten here," My interest piqued at that last remark. Apparently, Snape and I were not the only two people in the castle who noticed Moody's overt concern for Longbottom. "They wouldn't let anything happen to her."

Unfortunately, I could see right through the muggleborn. She _pitied_ me. She thought no one was going to come to the aid of poor, friendless Ivy Potter. My hands clenched at the insinuation and I was _this_ close to start spewing venom at the Gryffindor girl before I realized who was sitting right in front of me.

This was no ordinary, brainless peon. This was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch in my year. Sure, I had Snape available for guidance throughout this death trap, but coming to him had a certain risk. Technically receiving help from him was against the tournament rules. Of course, I would still go see my mentor but if I did it too frequently, I could be questioned by one of those foreign gits or a Ministry goon. Granger, on the other hand, was a risk free option. I could research with her and practice spells in her company whenever I bloody pleased.

I pushed aside my anger, my opportunistic Slytherin side winning out, and told the Gryffindor, "Fine, you can help me," the muggleborn brightened up, "but I don't want this getting around the castle. This arrangement stays between you and me, Granger. Do I make myself clear?"

The witch nodded eagerly, "Yes, of course."

I sat back down, "Alright Granger, let's get started then."

Four hours later, we had skimmed through five tomes about the Triwizard Tournament. Granger and I wrote down notes on past First Tasks, trying to determine a pattern. The first two hours, we had not found anything substantial but after grabbing a book about magical creatures off the shelf, we thought we might have uncovered a trend.

"The one in 1756 involves _another_ manticore," Granger interjected as I poured through an account about a First Task in 1580 when two of the champions were devoured by a Chimaera. I cringed at the illustration that accompanied the account. That was _a lot_ of blood…

"I'll put it under the manticore category," I told her. "How did the champions deal with the beast?"

"One used some difficult transfiguration… she turned it into a mouse," Granger muttered. "The second one… oh, he went a bloody route. He cut off its stinger and then gutted it with a particularly nasty curse. The last… yikes, she was poisoned and then- Merlin, that's horrid… I don't even want to tell you, Ivy. It's disgusting."

I gulped and imagined lying paralyzed on the ground by the poison in the beast's tail. Death would be painful and come slowly. I could only hope something would put me out of my misery before it got too gory.

"So we can safely say that magical creatures are directly tied in with the First Task?" I concluded.

Granger nodded and looked back over her notes, "I mean besides the few outliers we've encountered, there's a pretty clear pattern of the champions facing off with a magical creature that is at least rated by the Ministry at a XXXX danger level or higher."

I felt my stomach clench painfully. According to the Department of Magical Creatures, a XXXX rating meant only a skilled wizard or a specialist could subdue the creature. I was two months into my second year taking Care of Magical Creatures with Professor Hagrid and I was an average student at best. There was no way I could handle a XXXX creature without prior knowledge. I was doomed.

The Gryffindor must have noticed my distress because she added, "We could go to Hagrid for advice. He loves dangerous creatures. I'm sure he would be more than happy to help you, Ivy."

I thought of my professor. Despite his size, he was a kind and gentle man and clearly loved all creatures- no matter how disgusting and deadly they were- but unfortunately, Hagrid was also a fool and secured firmly in Dumbledore's back pocket. After talking with Snape last night, there were few people I could trust in the castle, especially those who were associated with powerful wizards like the headmaster.

I shook my head, "Maybe another time," I said vaguely, wishing to avoid the topic as long as possible. "Today, I want to keep researching."

* * *

The next Monday, I went down alone to the Great Hall for breakfast. As soon as I passed through the doors, I felt eyes upon me. Everyone wanted a look at Ivy Potter, Hogwarts Champion. They whispered and pointed and some even made louder comments that were impossible to ignore- 'Oh, she won't last.' 'All Potter can do is blow up a couple of windows. Hopefully, the first task is set in a glass room.' 'Hogwarts is going to lose with that snake representing us.' My face burned as I sat down at the far end of the Slytherin table. I wanted to lash out, scream and march right out of the Great Hall, but I knew that was exactly what those nasty vultures wanted me to do.

I would not give them the satisfaction.

I stabbed at my eggs and shoveled them into my throat as fast as I could. I wanted to escape before another vicious comment made me do something I would regret.

I was halfway through my breakfast when I spotted Davis entering the Great Hall. She was alone- which was not surprising since her social value was as low as mine- but instead of joining me at the end of the Slytherin table as I hoped, she walked passed me with her nose in the air- the image of a perfect pureblood princess. I almost burst out into laughter at the absurdity of it all but after considering the circumstances, I settled with throwing a sneer in her direction, ignoring the stinging sensation in my chest at being shunned.

Before I could start buttering my toast, I was interrupted by a sealed envelope landing on my plate. I looked up and watched a familiar sleek black owl fly away.

"Tonks," I muttered, ripping open the crimson Ministry wax seal to see what my sponsor had written me.

_Ivy,_

_Professor Snape informed me last night that your name came out of the Goblet of Fire on Friday night. I would offer my congratulations but under these circumstances, I can only say that I am very concerned. Professor Snape explained you did not submit your name for consideration, which worries me even more. Are you sure you did not put your name in, Ivy? I know Quidditch being cancelled this year has left you with more time on your hands and I hope you did not decide to enter the competition as a distraction from Quidditch. The Triwizard Tournament is __extremely__ demanding Ivy, not only magically but mentally too. You can tell me the truth. I won't be angry. I am just scared you are getting in over your head. _

_I tried my best to find you a way out of the tournament. I called in one of the Ministry's magistrates as soon as I received Professor Snape's letter, but they told me that as of October 31__st__ you have entered into a binding magical contract with the Goblet of Fire. Thus, it would be impossible to remove you from the tournament without permanent repercussions. This is extremely troubling, but I will continue to search for a way to get you out of this tournament._

_Please write often with updates. I was upset to only hear this news on Sunday. When something major like this happens, I want to be one of the first people to hear Ivy. I care about your well-being very much and this tournament is no joke. I am afraid for you. You are a talented witch, but these tasks were not designed for someone of your magical level or maturity. Please keep me in the loop._

_I will reach out to Dr. Thomas today. I could imagine he would want an extra therapy session a week to see how you are dealing with the stress of this tournament. I hope you are handling all of this alright. I could imagine it would be a lot for you. Just make sure you keep your temper in check and don't do anything too rash. We'll get through this together._

_Take care of yourself,_

_Ted Tonks_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_Child Services Bureau _

I crumbled the letter into a ball as soon as I was done with it. I was tempted to set in on fire for good measure, but I knew Professor Snape would not look kindly upon that. I had enough problems without another detention on my plate.

Still though, I was furious my Ministry Sponsor automatically assumed the worse of me just like Dumbledork did the other night. Why did everyone treat me as if I was some kind of criminal? Sure, I got into detention a little more than the average student and yes, I did blow up glassware on a weekly basis, but did that mean I was a Morgana reincarnate? I was just Ivy Potter. There was nothing special about me besides my parental situation. I did not rob Gringotts or commit murder. I was just a fourteen year old girl with an anger problem.

I looked down at my green and white tie and readjusted it. I was not going to give Ted Tonks any satisfaction by writing back to him. Screw him. The nonbeliever could just get updates on my 'well-being' from my Head of House. It was what he deserved for treating me like the rest of these prejudicial bastards at Hogwarts.

Once I swallowed the last piece of toast, I was up and heading towards the exit. I was still focused in my anger towards my Ministry Sponsor and unfortunately, I did not hear the flying projectile heading right towards me. I had only taken three steps away from the Slytherin table when a THWAP noise echoed throughout the room. Suddenly, I felt a cold, wet sensation dripping down my back. Laughter immediately erupted in the hall and I knew I was the cause for the other students' entertainment. I ran a hand through my untamed black hair and felt something soft and spongy that I knew had to be scrambled eggs. More laughter rained out and I scowled, whipping around to find the culprit. The Gryffindor table was the most raucous of the four and after seeing Ron Weasley get a congratulatory pat on the back from another Gryffindor 4th year, Seamus Finnegan, I knew I had found my target.

My wand was out and before I could blink, it was pointed right at the red headed buffoon.

"Oppungo!" I screamed and immediately, fat golden birds flew at Ron Weasley at the speed of bullets. I did not watch the damage, but I knew from his loud shouts that my birds were digging into his skin and tearing apart any piece of freckled flesh they could find. This would be the only thing that satisfied me as I marched out of the Great Hall, glaring at anyone who dared to catch my eye.

After a trip to the loo to sort myself out, I spent the rest of my day in misery. Gryffindors shot nasty comments at me in the corridors. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs continued to stare at me in class, uncertain how they felt about me, but not completely on my side. And the Slytherins acted tough around the lions out of House loyalty, but I knew deep down it was more out of House pride than concern for me, which stung a bit.

Granger attempted to catch my eye once or twice when we passed each other in the hallways, but I paid her no heed. I did not need her bloody _pity_. I could handle myself quite fine.

I ended up skipping lunch, not looking for a repeat performance of what had occurred during breakfast, and for the duration of dinner, I camped out in the library, catching up on class work I had casted aside because of that cursed tournament. However, at half past seven I was regretting my decision to abstain from food. My stomach was growling repeatedly and I was beginning to grow weak from hunger. I did not stop writing my Charms essay though. I figured it would help take my mind off of food. Perhaps, tomorrow morning I could get up early enough to grab breakfast before the Great Hall became too crowded…

"Hello, Champion."

A smooth voice had greeted me and its owner slipped into the chair across from me. I looked up, expecting another tormentor, and instead, I was peering into the warm, brown eyes of George Weasley. He was wearing his Quidditch robes, which were caked with mud, and had his broomstick slung over his shoulder. The 6th year did not sneer at me or look ready to curse me like his other Gryffindor compatriots, instead he was smiling at me.

"I'm surprised Madam Prince didn't try to chuck you out the moment she spotted you," I said, not returning his smile. I was currently very bitter towards _all_ lions. "You look like you rolled around in a pigsty."

"Madam Prince could never keep out someone with my devilish good looks and excellent sense of humor-"

"You snuck around her, didn't you?" I cut him off dryly.

"You wound me, fair lady," the Gryffindor proclaimed, flourishing his hands dramatically. "To think I would sink that low-"

I rolled my eyes at his outburst and then, interrupted him again, "What do you want, Weasley?"

Ever since the aftermath of the Cruciatus incident, George and I had been on… decent terms. He did not gossip about our time on the Quidditch pitch and in return, I had not found a need to curse him to a thousand pieces. We had not been alone since that rainy September day, but we had been civil when we bumped into each other in the corridors or the Great Hall. It was more than I got from most of my fellow students at Hogwarts.

"I spotted you as I passed by the library and I wanted to see how my favorite champion was doing," George told me, still grinning stupidly.

"Favorite champion?" I thought of Longbottom. "How could I possibly top Gryffindor's golden girl?"

The redhead rolled his eyes, "You mean my younger brother's 'best friend?'" He used air quotes to emphasize his point, which piqued my interest. Longbottom had clearly lost Granger, but was she now struggling to maintain Ron too? Interesting…"She threw all of us under the bus when she managed to get into that tournament. How could you figure out a way to get in, but leave out your best mate and his family?"

I remembered Longbottom's frightened face from the other night. She clearly wanted nothing to do with the Triwizard Tournament, despite her previous interest in it. I wondered- Had her desire to become Hogwarts' champion all been for show? She did have a terrible habit of flaunting around and acting braver than she really was... I was tempted to correct George and tell him my theory- that Longbottom was also competing in the tournament against her will, just like me- but I let it slide. My arch-nemesis would never stick up for me, so why should I return the favor?

"So, you don't think I entered?" I asked.

George laughed, "You're a Slytherin, Ivy. You might all be exceptional liars, but you're a clever bunch too. You don't rush into dangerous situations if you don't believe your skin will be intact by the end of it."

I did my best to hide my grimace at the thought of my impending doom, "Thanks… I just assumed from the reception I received this morning in the Great Hall that no one from your House believed me."

The silly grin disappeared and the boy across from me sighed, "Are you talking about my youngest brother?" I frowned, my egg-based humiliation still fresh in my mind. "Well, on behalf of the entire Weasley family, please allow me to apologize for my extremely thickheaded and immature brother… I swear if I was not present on the day of his birth, I would swear on my grave that we do not share the same flesh and blood… but alas, Ronniekins is unfortunately related to me," I couldn't hold back my smile, "You did do a wonderful job with putting him in his place, though. McGonagall wouldn't even let him get the bird scratches treated by Madam Pomfrey after breakfast. She told him he deserved every single one."

My eyebrows rose slightly at the last comment. It wasn't often when McGonagall sided with me. The Head of Gryffindor House was just as biased towards her lions as Snape was towards us snakes. I always hoped my parents' affiliation with her House would improve my relationship with the Transfiguration professor. Unfortunately, she still treated me like any other Slytherin- cold and firm. It was disappointing but now that I was in my fourth year at Hogwarts, I had accepted it.

"Thanks," I said and was ready to add on a snarky comment about the 'Ronniekins' nickname, when a loud growling sound ripped through my stomach.

George's eyebrows rose in my direction and I could not help but blush.

"Did you eat dinner?" he asked me.

I stared down at the table awkwardly. I did not want to admit I had been hiding from the Great Hall ever since the egg incident this morning. I had been tired of all the whispering and the insults and knew it was only a matter of time before I blew up and made a fool out of myself. I was scared to admit this though because George would either think I was a coward for not being able to face my tormentors or a psychopath who couldn't control her emotions. Both options were not favorable for me.

"Of course," I lied, but my traitorous stomach grumbled again. I glared at the offending organ… stupid bloody thing.

"Well, it sounds like you could use a second dinner," George said brightly. I appreciated not being called out for my blatant fib. It was more kindness than I deserved. "Can I accompany you, milady?" he added, standing up and offering an arm to me.

I rolled my eyes at his flowery language, "What's with all this chivalry? Did you just start the medieval wizarding history unit in Binn's class?"

The redhead grinned unabashedly, "Maybe…"

I snorted. He was impossible.

"Fine, I'll go to dinner… But where will we go? The Great Hall is closed at this hour," I told him, while I packed up my belongings.

The Gryffindor shook his head and his brown eyes began to sparkle mischievously, "That's why you're in luck, Miss Potter. You are in the company of one of the few students who knows this castle backwards and forwards."

I raised an eyebrow, challenging him, "Oh, really?" I slung my knapsack over my shoulder. "And where else could I get food besides the Great Hall? Even Professor Dumbledore dines there."

"No more questions. Just follow me and they shall all be answered in due time."

I held back a sigh and trailed the Gryffindor out of the library, ignoring the stares I was receiving. Didn't these bottom feeders know when to give it up? After waving goodbye to a murderous looking Madam Prince- she had finally spotted George and his muddy robes- my companion took me down several corridors and up a flight of stairs before stopping in front of a portrait of a fruit basket. To my amazement, he started tickling the canvas.

"Are you mad?" I asked the boy incredulously. In my past four years, I had never seen someone treat a Hogwarts portrait this way.

"Have a little faith, my dear," George reassured me and a moment later, the portrait swung open. He held out a hand and guided me over the doorway. "May I present to you- the Hogwarts kitchens!"

I looked up and blinked. In front of me was a bright room of considerable size that was filled with fireplaces, ovens, sinks and food preparation areas. In the center, there was an elongated wooden table that was about the same length of one of the House tables in the Great Hall. However, the most shocking feature of the room was not its size, but its occupants. A small army of tiny creatures with long, floppy ears and eyeballs that were disproportionately large for their heads were chopping vegetables, stirring pots and pulling large dishes from the ovens. Though, as soon as they spotted George and me climbing through the portrait hole, they abandoned their work and swarmed us, squeaking at us eagerly.

"Master George, you're back!"

"Would Master George be wanting more of the custards?"

"What can Pinky be getting you, Miss? Pinky would get anything for a friend of Master George!"

"Master George, Tully wants to be getting you something to eat. You look too skinny, Master George!"

After thirty seconds of their babbling, I had a strong urge to curse the annoyingly helpful creatures. They were jumping up and down around us, tugging on our sleeves and begging to serve us with those creepy eyes of theirs. My Gryffindor companion must have noticed my discomfort because he placed a hand on my arm either to prevent me from raising my wand or to calm me down. I wasn't sure what, but I was still grateful for it. Losing my temper in front of George was not on my agenda. I had been mortified enough for one day.

"Thank you," the Gryffindor said, smiling down at the creatures. "I was hoping to get some food for my friend. I don't think she's had anything to eat since breakfast."

I glared at George, as the creatures let out cries of horror. Apparently, not eating for this long was one of the worst things imaginable because most of them immediately sprinted away as fast as their chubby little legs could take them. While the other creatures prepared food for me, one stayed behind and ushered us to a table, pulling out two chairs so we could sit down.

"Marvelous, aren't they?" George asked, smirking.

I scrunched up my nose as I watched them scramble around the kitchens, "They're creepy as hell."

The Gryffindor laughed, "They're very dedicated and _extremely_ nice. There's really nothing comparable to the hospitality of a House Elf."

House Elf? I had never heard of such a creature. Instead of asking though, I decided I would file that information away for later. Normally, I was eager to acquire knowledge. It was a very Ravenclaw trait of mine. However, the food was now heading in my direction, being carried over on trays by the small creatures. In this instance, my aching stomach was going to have to take precedent. The House Elves could wait.

Three large plates- a roasted chicken, baked potatoes and sautéed green beans- were placed in front of me. My stomach let out another painful groan at the sight of the wonder before me and to my embarrassment, my mouth began to salivate. I had never been so excited for a Hogwarts meal in all my time here.

I did not even bother to wait for George and immediately began to dig into my small feast. I repeatedly took serving after serving of chicken, potatoes and green beans until I felt I could not eat another bite. When I was finally done, I looked up at my companion, who had been silent the entire time. I was thankful he had allowed me to enjoy my meal without interruption.

"I knew you hadn't eaten after breakfast," he declared, when I put my utensils down.

I remembered he had said the same thing to the House Elves, "How did you guess?"

To my surprise, the tips of his ears turned a crimson shade. Was George Weasley blushing?

"I didn't see you in the Great Hall the rest of the day," he explained. "I was concerned you were still upset about the whole Ron situation."

A strange tightness formed in my chest at the word 'concern'. It was weird to think another person actually cared about my well-being. Of course, I had Snape and Mr. Tonks who were always on my case, but they _had_ to be concerned for me. It was their job. George, on the other hand, was just an acquaintance. He was a very good acquaintance- I would admit that- but he was nothing more. I found it odd he looked out for me as much as he did.

"Thanks," I muttered. "I wasn't too upset about that, though. I… I just wanted to be left alone."

"Why?"

I looked down at the table again, irritated that I had admitted so much to George Weasley. He was a Gryffindor. He was the brother of one of my least favorite people at Hogwarts. And he was an adversary on the Quidditch pitch. We weren't supposed to be on such a personal level that I could tell him my problems. It wasn't right.

"It's not that big of a deal," I told him tightly, hoping he would drop it.

However, he was just as stubborn as I was.

"No, it's a big deal," George said, the usual smile falling away. "You shouldn't be skipping meals Ivy, especially with the First Task coming up. You need your strength."

My face darkened at the thought of the tournament. I only had three weeks left…

"Is that what has you so worked up? The tournament?" the Gryffindor asked, interrupting the wave of panic I usually felt when someone mentioned the Triwizard Tournament.

I glared at him and knew my temper was about to boil over, "Of course it's the tournament. Everything has gone to shite because of this bloody tournament. I have people at this school treating me like a freak show. My only friend decided to go AWOL on me when I needed her the most. And how could I forget the fact that I might be eaten in three weeks by some bloodthirsty magical creature?" I heard the familiar sound of shattering glass behind me. My magic had gotten away from me… again. "So yes Weasley, the reason why I'm all fucking worked up is this fucking tournament! Are you happy now?"

I sprang up from my seat, ashamed I made such a fool out of myself, and I was ready to flee, but George was faster than me. He made his way around the table to grab my arm. Pure instinct made me draw my wand out from my robe pocket and point it right in the Gryffindor's face.

"I've already jinxed one Weasley today," I growled, shaking with fury. "Do yourself a favor and let go, so you won't be the second."

"No," George told me firmly and to his credit, he did not even flinch from my wand. "I'm not letting you run away thinking you're going to die in this tournament because you're not."

"Oh, really? And how can you guarantee that?" I shot back scornfully. "You won't be doing the Tasks with me, will you?"

George sighed, "No, but I can tell you what you'll be facing off against in the First Task."

My wand lowered by a fraction and I blinked at him, shocked.

"How do you know that? It's a secret."

George used his free hand to pull a crumbled piece of parchment out of his robe pocket.

"My brother, Charlie, wrote to me today from Romania," the Gryffindor told me, still not releasing my arm. I think he was scared I would bolt the moment his grip became lax. "Charlie works on a dragon preserve."

"Dragons?" I repeated, a foreboding feeling bubbling in my stomach.

George nodded, "Charlie told me he is coming to visit in a few weeks… at the same time as the First Task. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together…"

"Dragons," I whispered again, my wand arm completely falling to my side. I felt completely numb. Dragons were a XXXXX Ministry classified beast; the most lethal category. The last time dragons were a part of the First Task was in 1832 and unfortunately, it had produced a gruesome result. A wizard from Beauxbatons was burnt to death by a Chinese Fireball before becoming a snack for the beast. I felt my stomach turn.

"You can get through this," George told me, looking concerned that I was still standing in the middle of the kitchens like a zombie. "I'll help you. I won't let you die, Ivy. I swear."

"I- I," I stuttered.

I wanted to reply to George, give him a reassurance that I was strong and capable enough to face down the beast by myself, but I was unwillingly frozen in fear. How would I defeat a bloody dragon at fourteen years old? Was it even possible for one person to take down a beast like that all by themselves? How would I be fast enough to dodge the dragon if it decided to burn me to a crisp? And what if its spikes were poisonous? Would I die quickly? Or would it be a slow, agonizing death?

"Ivy?"

George's voice sounded far away.

"I have to go," I muttered and without much effort, I was able to wrench myself about the Gryffindor's grasp. This time, he did not call out my name or chase me down. George allowed me to run out of the kitchens and stumble blindly down the corridors, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I was acting like a bloody coward, but I did not care. My days were numbered. I was allowed to be emotional.

"Ivy?"

A timid voice made me stop in my tracks. Granger stood before me, her arms filled with books. As she gazed at me, she wore the same expression on her face as George- concern mixed with _pity_. Why did people suddenly care so much about my well-being all of the sudden? Didn't they know I was a hopeless cause? I was going to be dead in a few weeks anyway…

"Dragons," I told the girl in front of me. "The First Task is dragons."

Hermione looked grim.

"We have a lot of work to do."

* * *

Well, here is another chapter. I hope it was enjoyable. There was a mixture of potentially new allies and a potentially new danger for Ivy with this whole magical oath business. All I will say is that the oath will be important later down the road...

I'm excited for more feedback from you guys. As much as I use my enjoyment of writing as a motivator, feedback (whether good or bad) really does help keep me (and I'm sure all writers on this site) typing away. So, I do appreciate anything you can give me. Thanks!

A/N I know it's strange to see this version of Harry frightened, but I think it's understandable where Ivy is coming from. Unlike canon-Harry, she's never had to face death year after year. She's never defeated a basilisk or come face-to-face with a werewolf or even encountered Voldemort. Ivy is an imperfect, fourteen year old who has been sheltered from most of that and now, she's facing death in the face for the first time. She's clearly not confident in her abilities (aren't all teenagers?) and is pretty cynical at the moment (reading about all of the former Triwizard Tournaments certainly hasn't helped). Luckily, Ivy will have Hermione and in the next chapter, we'll see if they can develop a plan to get her through the First Task and give Ivy a little more confidence.

Thanks again for reading!


End file.
